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THE WOODRANGER 


GIFT BOOK SERIES FOR BOYS 
AND GIRLS 

Three Little Crackers By Will Allen Dromgoole 
Three Children of Galilee 

By John Gordon 

Miss Gray^s Girls By Jeanette A. Grant 

The Fairy Folk of Blue Hill 

By Lily F. Wesselhoeft 

Little Bermuda By Maria Louise Pool 

The Wild Ruthvens By Curtis York 
King Pippin By Mrs. Gerard Ford 

The Adventures of a Siberian Cub 

By Leon Golschmann 

The Woodranger By G. Waldo Browne 

A Bad Penny By John T. Wheelwright 

Feats on the Fiord By Harriet Martineau 

Songs and Rhymes for the Little Ones 

By Mary W. Morrison 

The Young Pearl Divers 

By H. Phelps Whitmarsh 
Timothy Dole By Juniata Salsbury 

m 

L* C. Page and Company, Publishers 








;i-r 



“ ‘ I’m 


UMDER OATH.’ ” 

{See page 75.) 


THE WOODRANGER 


A Story of the Pioneers of the Debatable 
Grounds 


BY Z' 

G. WALDO BROWNE 


AUTHOR OF 

“TWO AMERICAN BOYS IN 
HAWAII,” ETC. 


miustrateti tig 



BOSTON 

L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 

(incori-orated) 

1899 


Copyright, i8gg 

By L. C. Page and Company 

(Incorporated) 


TWO COPIES BECEIVED. 





•eCOND COPY, Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 

Boston. U. S, A. 


CXa>^. 


TO 

i^orman Stanleg Broijjne 

MY MERRY LITTLE SON 

HOPING IT WILL INTEREST AND INSTRUCT HIM 
THIS VOLUME IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 







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CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER 

Introduction .... 



PAGE 

7 

I. 

The Deer’s Leap 



II 

II. 

The Woodranger and the Deer 

Reeve 

i6 

III. 

Norman Meets His Enemy 



23 

IV. 

A Perilous Predicament 



30 

V. 

Johnny Stark .... 



43 

VI. 

The Man Who Knew It All 



53 

VII. 

Norman’s Trial 



63 

VIII. 

End of the Trial . 



75 

IX. 

The Shooting-match 



84 

X. 

An Alarm 



97 

XI. 

A Fiery Girdle 



103 

XII. 

Bad News at Home 



1 12 

XIII. 

The Honour of the McNiels 



119 

XIV. 

Norman Works in a Stump-field 


126 

XV. 

Hanging a Bear 



139 

XVI. 

Gunwad Takes Decisive Action 



149 

XVII. 

The Canoe Match . 



163 

XVIII. 

The Fall Hunt 



180 

XIX. 

Deer Neck .... 



188 

XX. 

The Cry for Help . 



196 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

XXI. 

A Peculiar Predicament . , 

. 

202 

XXII. 

The Gun-shot 

. 

209 

XXIII. 

The Forest Tragedy 

. 

215 

XXIV. 

Bear’s Claws — The Turkey Train 

. 

221 

XXV. 

The Place of the Big Buck. 

. 

229 

XXVI. 

Around the Camp-fire . 

. 

234 

XXVII. 

“ Creeping ” the Moose . 

. 

242 

XXVIII. 

The Battle of the Monarchs 

. 

250 

XXIX. 

Test Shots — The Snow-storm 

. 

255 

XXX. 

The Burning of Christo’s Wigwam 

. 

262 

XXXI. 

The Woodranger Surprises Mr. Mac- 



Donald 

. 

270 

XXXII. 

Zack Bitlock’s Deer 

. 

278 

XXXIII. 

Raising the Meeting-house . 

. 

286 

XXXIV. 

The Freshet 

. 

294 

XXXV. 

The Woodranger’s Secret . 

. 

300 

XXXVI. 

The Turning of the Tide 

. 

308 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

‘“I’m Under Oath’” .... Frontispiece 

“The Deer Sprang Out over the Dizzy Brink” 15 

“ Archie Improved His Opportunity to Drop the 

Noose over Her Head” 144 


“His Right Arm Moved Slowly To and Fro” . 278 



INTRODUCTION. 


In order to understand the scenes about to be 
described, it is necessary to take a hasty glance at 
the general situation in 1 740 of the colonists in the 
vicinity of the Merrimack River. It should be borne 
in mind that New England was only a narrow strip 
of country along the seacoast, and was divided into 
four provinces, — Rhode Island, Connecticut, Massa- 
chusetts, and New Hampshire. 

Unfortunately for the welfare of the pioneers in 
the last-named province, .the boundary line between 
New Hampshire and Massachusetts was a matter 
of dispute for nearly a hundred years. The differ- 
ence had arisen from a misconception at the out- 
set in regard to the source of the Merrimack River, 
which was believed by its early discoverers and 
explorers to rise in the west and follow an easterly 
course to the ocean. Accordingly, the province of 
Massachusetts claimed not only all of the land to 
the southwest of the other province, but a strip 
three miles wide along the east bank of the stream 
to its supposed source in the great lake (Win- 
nepesaukee), including not only the debatable 
7 


8 


THE WOODRANGER. 


ground of Namaske, but a tract of country to its 
south and east, called the ‘‘ Chestnut Country,” on 
account of the large number of those trees growing 
there. 

In 1719 a part of this territory was settled by a 
party of colonists from the north of Ireland, known 
as Scotch-Irish, from their having previously emi- 
grated to that country from Scotland. These settlers, 
who called their new town first Nut field and then 
Londonderry, in honour of the county from whence 
they had come, supposed that the deeds and grants 
which they had received from the province of New 
Hampshire would allow them to hold the debatable 
ground. They were upright, courageous men and 
women, but were rigid Presbyterians, and for this 
reason met with little favour from their equally 
austere Puritan neighbours from Massachusetts. 

In order to colonise the disputed territory, Massa- 
chusetts at about this time began a system of grant- 
ing lands as a reward for meritorious service in 
fighting the Indians, and among others was a grant 
to the survivors of the famous Snow Shoe Expedi- 
tion ” of the tract of land below Namaske Falls, 
which had gained the disreputable name of Old 
Harrytown. The leader of the expedition. Captain 
Tyng, was dead, but in honour of him the new town 
was named Tyng Township. 

In one respect the settlers of Tyng Township were 


INTRO D UCTION 


9 


fortunate. They arrived during one of those transi- 
tory intervals of comparative peace, which came and 
went during the long and sanguinary struggle with 
the Indians like flashes of sunlight on a stormy 
day. In 1725, following several victories of the 
whites over their savage enemies, foremost of which 
was Lovewell’s flght, the chief of the Abnaki Indians, 
then the leading tribe in New England, signed a 
treaty of peace at Boston. This treaty was not 
broken until 1744, and the whole history of Tyng 
Township is included within these two dates. 

As stated above, some of the Scotch-Irish, under 
grants from New Hampshire, had already settled in 
the territory granted by Massachusetts to Tyng’s 
men, and an intense rivalry at once sprang up be- 
tween the settlements. The English were deter- 
mined and aggressive, the Scotch stubborn and 
ready to flght to the bitter end for what they con- 
sidered their rights, and before long both sides were 
ready to resort to arms the moment an overt act of 
their rivals should seem to call for such measures. 

G, Waldo Browne. 



THE WOODRANGER. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE deer’s leap. 

As the distant baying of a hound broke like a dis- 
cordant note upon the quiet of the summer afternoon, 
a youth sprang upright on the pinnacle of a cliff 
which reared its bald head above the surrounding 
forest, and listened for a repetition of the unexpected 
alarm. 

The young listener presented a striking figure, 
the strong physique of limb and body brought into 
bold relief against the sky, and each feature clearly 
outlined, as he gazed into space. He was in his 
nineteenth year, above the medium height, but so 
symmetrical in form that he did not look out of 
proportion. His high cheek-bones, clear blue eyes, 
straight nose, well-curved chin, and firm-set mouth 
showed the characteristics of the Lowland sons of 
old Scotland. His name was Norman McNiel. 

For nearly an hour he had lain there on the sum- 


II 


12 


THE WOODRANGER, 


mit of Rock Rimmon, gazing in a dreamy way over 
the broad panorama of wilderness, while his mind 
carried him back across the stormy sea to his early 
home in Northern Ireland, which he had left a 
year before to come to this country with his young 
foster-sister Rilma and their aged grandfather, Rob- 
ert MacDonald, last of the noted MacDonalds of 
Glencoe. 

It was Archer’s bark ! ” he exclaimed. He 
must have followed me, and now has started a deer 
from its favourite haunt in Cedar Swamp. Hark ! 
there he sounds his warning again, and never bugle 
of bold clansman rang clearer over the braes o’ 
bonny Scotland. He is coming this way ! For- 
sooth ! A bonny hunter am I with not a grain of 
powder in my horn, and the last bullet sent on a 
fruitless errand after a wild bird. A pretty kettle of 
fish is this for a McNiel ! ” 

Another cry from the hound at that moment, 
clearer, louder, nearer, held his entire attention, and 
sent the warm blood tingling through his veins. 
Far and wide over the valley rang the deep bass 
baying of the hound, the wooded hills on either side 
catching up the wild sound, and flinging it back and 
forth, until it seemed as if a dozen dogs were on 
the heels of some poor hunted victim. 

The chase continued to draw swiftly nearer and 
nearer. As if the race had become too earnest for 


THE DEERES LEAP. 


13 


it to keep up its running outcries, only an occasional 
short, sharp cry came from the hound. Soon this 
too ceased, and Norman was beginning to fear the 
chase was taking another course, when the sharp 
report of a firearm awoke the silence. 

A howl from the hound quickly followed, while 
this was succeeded by a more pitiful cry, and the 
furious crashing of bodies plunging headlong through 
the thick undergrowth. 

Immediately succeeding the renewed baying of the 
hound, Norman became aware of the sound of some 
one pushing his way rapidly through the growth off 
to his right, and at an acute angle to the course 
being taken by the deer. The next moment he was 
surprised to see a human figure burst into the open- 
ing at the lower end of the cliff, apparently making 
for the summit of Rock Rimmon. His surprise was 
heightened by a second discovery swiftly following 
the first. The newcomer was an Indian, carrying 
in his hand the gun with which he had shot at the 
deer. 

Seeing Norman, instead of approaching any nearer 
the cliff, the red man abruptly changed his course, 
disappearing the next moment in the forest with the 
Indian’s peculiar loping gait. 

Christo, the last of the Pennacooks ! ” exclaimed 
Norman. It was he who fired the shot. I — ” 

He was cut short in the midst of his speculation 


14 


THE WOODRANGER. 


by the sudden appearance of the hunted deer on the 
opposite side of the clearing. 

Though Rock Rimmon has a sheer descent of 
nearly a hundred feet on the south, its ascent is so 
gradual on the north as to make it an easy feat to 
reach its top. A growth of stunted pitch-pines 
grew to within fifty yards of Norman’s standing 
place. The ledge was covered with moss in spots, 
while here and there a scrubby oak found a precarious 
living. 

Although expecting to get a sight of the deer, as 
he imagined the fugitive to be, Norman was still 
considerably surprised to see the hunted creature 
bound out from the matted pines, and leap straight 
up the rocky pathway! Close upon its heels fol- 
lowed the hound, no longer keeping up its resonant 
baying. 

The fugitive deer seemed to have a purpose in 
pursuing this narrow course, as it might have turned 
slightly to the right or left, and escaped its inevitable 
fate on the cliff. The large, lustrous eyes, glancing 
wildly around, saw nothing clearly. The blood was 
flowing freely from its panting sides, and it was evi- 
dent its strength was nearly spent. To Norman, who 
had seen but a few of its kind, there was a human 
expression in the soft light of its great, mournful 
eye, and intuitively he shrank back, as he saw the 
doomed creature approaching. 





“THE DEER SPRANG OUT OVER THE DIZZY BRINK 




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THE DEERES LEAP, 


15 


In its fatal alarm the terrified animal had not seen 
him. In fact it seemed to see nothing in its path- 
way, — not even the precipice cutting off further 
retreat. As if preferring death by a mad leap over 
the chasm, it sped to the very brink without check- 
ing the speed of its flying feet ! Norman held his 
breath with a feeling of horror at the inevitable fate 
of the poor creature. The hound, as if realising the 
desperate strait to which it had driven its prey, 
stopped. Then, with a last mournful glance back- 
ward, and a sharp cry of pain and despair, the deer 
sprang out over the dizzy brink, its beautiful form 
sinking swiftly upon the stony earth at the foot of 
Rock Rimmon ! 


CHAPTER II. 

THE WOODRANGER AND THE DEER REEVE. 

So sudden and strange was the leap to death of 
the hunted deer, that Norman McNiel stood for a 
moment stupefied by a sense of horror at the strange 
sight. The hound, a magnificent animal, as if shar- 
ing its master’s feeling with an added shame for the 
part it had taken in the matter, crept to his side, 
and sank silently upon the rock at his feet. 

‘‘He escaped you. Archer,” said the young mas- 
ter, patting the dog on its head, “and me, too, for 
that matter. But I cannot see that either was to 
blame. The poor creature met his fate bravely.” 

Then, to satisfy himself that the deer was really 
killed, he approached to the extremity of the cliff, 
and peered into the depths below. He discovered, 
at his first glance, the mutilated form of the creature. 
There could be no doubt of its death. The sound 
of footsteps at that instant arrested his attention. 
Looking from the shapeless body of the deer, he 
saw two men pushing their way through the dense 

i6 


WOODRANGER AND THE DEER REEVE, 1 7 

growth skirting the bit of clearing at the foot of 
the ledge. 

The foremost of the newcomers was an entire 
stranger to him, though he guessed that he belonged 
to the Tyng colonists, who had settled below the 
falls. He wore a suit of clothes made from the 
coarse homespun cloth so common among the Massa- 
chusetts men, and his firearm was of the English 
pattern usually carried by them. He was not much, 
if any, over thirty years of age, with a countenance 
robbed of its slight share of good looks by a stubble 
of reddish beard. 

His companion, whom Norman remembered as 
having seen once or twice the previous season, was 
several years the senior of the other, and of alto- 
gether different appearance. He was clad in a well- 
worn suit of buckskin, the frills on the leggins badly 
frayed from long contact with the briars and brush- 
wood of the forest. His feet were encased in a pair 
of Indian moccasins, while he wore on his head a 
cap of fox skin, with the tail of the animal hanging 
down to the back of his neck. Though bronzed 
by long exposure to the summer sun and winter 
wind, scarred by wounds, and rendered shaggy by its 
untrimmed beared, his face bore that stamp of frank, 
honest simplicity which was sure to win for the 
man the respect and confidence of those he met. 
The silver streaks in the hair falling in profusion 


i8 


THE WOODRANGER. 


about his neck told that he was passing the prime 
of life. Still there was great strength in the long, 
muscular limbs, and, while he moved generally with 
a slow, shuffling gait, he was capable of astonishing 
swiftness of movement whenever it was called for. 

He showed his natural instinct as a woodsman by 
the noiseless way in which he emerged from the 
forest, in marked contrast to the slouching steps of 
his companion. Stuck in his belt could be seen the 
handle of a serviceable knife, while he carried a 
heavy, long-barrelled rifle of a pattern unknown in 
this vicinity at that time. The weapon showed that 
it had seen long and hard service. 

Norman was about to speak to him, when the 
other exclaimed, in the tone of one announcing an 
important discovery : 

Look there, Woodranger ! if you want to believe 
me. It’s the critter that got the shot we heerd, and 
it’s a deer as I told ye. A shot out o’ season, too, 
mind ye, Woodranger. Ef I could clap my eyes on 
the fool he’d walk to Chelmsford with me to-morrer, 
or I ain’t deer reeve o’ this grant o’ Tyng Township, 
honourably and discreetly ’p’inted by the Gineral 
Court o’ the Province o’ Massachusetts.” 

It seems to me, Gunwad,” said his companion, 
speaking in a more deliberate tone, as he advanced 
to the deer’s mutilated form, “ that the creetur must 
have taken a powerful tumble over the rock hyur. 


WOODRANGER AND THE DEER REEVE. 1 9 

I reckon a jump off’n Rock Rimmon would be nigh 
'bout enough to stop the breath o’ most any deer.” 

“What made the deer jump off’n the rock, Wood- 
ranger ? It was thet air dog at its heels ! And ef 
there ain’t a hunk o’ lead in the critter big ernough 
to send the man thet fired it to Chelmsford I’ll eat 
the carcass, hoofs, horns, and, hide.” 

With these words he bent over the still warm 
body of the deer, and began a diligent search for 
some sign of the wound supposed to have been made 
by the shot. 

Woodranger dropped the butt of his rifle upon the 
ground, and stood leaning on its muzzle, while he 
watched with curious interest the proceeding of his 
companion. 

Gunwad’s search was not made in vain, for a min- 
ute later he held up between the thumb and fore- 
finger of his left hand, which was reeking with blood 
from its contact with the dead deer, the bullet he 
had hoped to find. 

“What do you think of it now.?” he demanded, 
showing by his tone and manner that he was highly 
pleased with his discovery. “What do ye call 
thet .? ” 

“ I suppose it would require no great knowledge 
o’ warfare to pronounce it a bullet, — leastways a 
pellet o’ lead fit for the weepon o’ a red. It was 
never the bullet o’ a white man’s gun. But that 


20 


THE WOODRANGER, 


does not enter into the question. That bullet was 
not the death o’ this deer.” 

** You’re talking at random now. Mebbe it didn’t 
kill the deer, but ef the dog hadn’t driven the critter 
over the rock, thet lead would hev fixed it for 
salting.” 

I’m not so sure o’ that, friend Gunwad. If 
you’ll look a leetle cluser you’ll see that the bullet 
didn’t touch any vital. It sort o’ slewed up’ards and 
side—” 

‘‘ Much has thet got to do erbout it ! ” broke in 
Gunwad, beginning to show anger. I shall begin to 
think ye air consarned in the matter. Fust ye say 
it wasn’t the bullit o’ a white man, and I should like 
to know what cause ye hev for saying thet.” 

“It was never run by any mould,” replied Wood- 
ranger, calmly, as he took the bullet in his hand ; “ it 
was hammered out.” 

“ Say ! ” exclaimed Gunwad, suddenly changing 
the drift of the conversation, “Ye’re a sharp one, 
Woodranger. They say ye’re the best guide and 
Injun trailer in the two provinces. Help me fasten 
this bizness on that Injun at the Falls, and I’ll gin ye 
the best pair o’ beaver skins ye ever sot eyes on for 
years.” 

“You mean Christo,” said the other. 

“I reckon he’s the only red left in these parts, 
and ’arly riddance to him ! Jess show thet is an 


WOODRANGER AND THE DEER REEVE. 21 


Injun bullit, and I’ve settled his ’count, sure’s one 
and one make two.” 

*^That savours too much o’ wanton killing, Gun- 
wad. I ain’t no special grudge ag’in this Christo, 
though it may be I have leetle fellowship for the 
race. There be honest men, for all I can say, among 
the dusky-skins, and Christo may be one o’ ’em. At 
any rate till I ketch him in red devilryment I'm not 
going to condemn him. Ah, Gunwad, I ’low I live 
by the chase, and if I do say it, who has no design- 
ment to boast o’ the simple knack o’ drawing bead 
on wildcat or painter, bear or stag. Old Danger 
never barks at the same creetur but once ; but he 
never spits fire in the face o’ any creetur that can’t 
do more good by dying than living.” 

Look here, Woodranger ! ” exclaimed Gunwad, 
impatiently, I can see through yer logic. Ye air 
ag’in this law o’ protecting deer.” 

“ I’m ag’in the law that’s ag’in man. ’Tain’t natur 
to fill the woods with game, and then blaze the trees 
with notices not to tech a creetur. Mind you, I’m 
ag’in wanton killing, and him don’t live as can say I 
ever drew bead on a deer out o’ pure malice. I have 
noticed that it’s the same chaps as makes these laws 
as are the ones to resort to wanton destruction. To 
kill jess for the fun o’ killing is wanton. It is the 
great law o’ natur for one kind to war on another, 
the strong on the weak, from the biggest brute to 


22 


THE WOODRANGER. 


the smallest worm, and man wars on ’em all. If he 
must do so, let there be as much fairness as is con- 
sistent with human natur. No, I’m not a liker o’ 
the law that professes to defend the helpless, but 
does it so the wanton slayer can get his glut o’ 
slaughter in a fall’s hunt. I — ” 

The Woodranger might have continued his rude 
philosophy much longer had* not a movement of the 
hound on the cliff attracted their attention, and both 
men glanced upward to see, with surprise, Norman 
McNiel looking quietly down upon them. 

“ Hilloa ! ” exclaimed Gunwad, divining the situa- 
tion at once, “here is the deer slayer, or I’m a fool. 
Stand where ye air, youngster ! ” raising his gun to 
his shoulder, as he spoke. 


CHAPTER III. 


NORMAN MEETS HIS ENEMY. 

Don’t make any wanton move,” warned Wood- 
ranger. ‘‘ If I’m not mistaken the younker is one o’ 
the Scotch settlers on the river, and he’s a likely lad, 
or I’m no jedge o’ human natur’.” 

** I jess want him to know he ain’t going to play 
Injun with me,” replied Gunwad. Then, speaking 
in a louder key to Norman, he said : 

Climb down hyur, youngster, and see thet ye air 
spry erbout it, for I don’t think o’ spending the 
night in these woods.” 

I will be with you in a moment,” said Norman, 
starting toward the west end of the cliff, where he 
could descend with comparative ease. He had over- 
heard enough to understand that Gunwad would 
prove no friend to him, though he did not realise the 
deer reeve’s full intent. 

One o’ ’em condemned furriners !” muttered Gun- 
wad. “ I’d as soon snap him up as thet copper-skin. 
Hi, there, youngster ! be keerful how ye handle thet 
shooting-iron,” as Norman inadvertently lifted the 
23 


24 


THE WOODRANGER. 


weapon toward his shoulder in trying to avoid a 
bush. 

^‘You have nothing to fear, as it isn’t loaded. 
I—” 

“ Isn’t loaded, eh ? ” demanded the deer reeve. 
“ Let me take it.” 

Norman handed him the firearm, as requested, 
and then turned to look at Woodranger, who was 
watching the scene in silence, with a look in his blue 
eyes that it was difficult to read. 

“ I reckon I’ve got all the evidence I shall need,” 
said Gunwad, after hastily examining the gun. 
“You’ll need to go with me to Chelmsford, young- 
ster, to answer the grave charge of shooting deer 
out o’ season. It’ll only cost ye ten pounds, 
or forty days’ work for the province. Better have 
waited ernother day afore ye took yer leetle hunt ! ” 

“I have shot no deer, sir,” replied Norman. 
“ Neither have I hunted deer.” 

“ Don’t make yer case enny wuss by trying to lie 
out o’ it. The circumstances air all ag’in ye. Air 
ye coming erlong quiet like, or shall I hev to call on 
Woodranger to help me } ” 

“Where are you going to take me.?” asked 
Norman, feeling his first real alarm. “ Grandfather 
will be worried about me if I go away without telling 
him — ” 

“Old man will be worrited, eh.? O’ all the ox- 


NORMAN MEETS HIS ENEMY. 


25 

cuses to git out’n a bad fix thet’s the tarnalest. 
D’ye hear thet, Woodranger ? ” 

Nettled by the words, Norman showed some of 
the spirit of the McNiels, exclaiming sharply : 

‘‘Sir, I have hunted no deer, shot no deer, and 
there is no reason why you should make me prisoner. 
I have transgressed no law, as far as I know.” 

“Ignorance is no excuse for breaking a law, 
youngster. The facts air all ag’in ye. Ain’t this 
yer dog 1 and weren’t he chasing thet deer ? ” 

“He was chasing the deer, but surely you do not 
blame the hound for doing what his natural instinct 
told him to do To him all seasons are as one, and 
the laws of man unknown.” 

“A good p’int, lad,” said Woodranger, speaking 
for the first time since Norman had reached the foot 
of the cliff. 

“ But it does not clear yer frills from the law 
made by honourable law-makers and sanctioned by 
good King George,” retorted Gunwad, angrily. 
“Ye ’low yer dog was chasing the deer ? ” 

“ I have not said he was my dog, sir. He came 
to my house about a week ago and would stay with 
us. I — ” 

“ ’Mounts to the same as if he wus yers. I s’pose 
ye deny this is yer gun and thet it’s as empty as a 
last year’s nutshell ? ” 

“ The gun is mine, sir, and it is empty because I 


26 


THE WOODRANGER. 


wasted my ammunition on a hawk an hour since. I 
had no more powder with me.” 

A story jess erbout in keeping with the other. 
Afore ye take up lying fer a bizness I should ’vise 
ye to do a leetle practising. But I hev got evidence 
ernough, so kern erlong without enny more palaver.” 

Norman saw that it would be useless to remon- 
strate with the obstinate deer reeve, and he began to 
realise that he might have serious trouble with him 
before he could convince him and his friends of his 
innocence. Accordingly he hesitated before he 
said : 

“ I am innocent of this charge, sir, but if you will 
allow me to go home and tell sister and grand- 
father — ” 

Go home ! ” again broke in Gunwad, who had 
no respect for another’s feelings. “ If thet ain’t the 
coolest thing I ever heerd of. I s’pose ye think I’m 
innercent ernough to let ye take yer own way o’ 
going to Chelmsford to answer to the grave charge 
o’ shooting deer out o’ season. Did ye ever 
see the match o’ thet consarned audacity. Wood- 
ranger ” 

“It seems ag’in reason for me to think the lad 
means to play you double, Gunwad,” said the Wood- 
ranger, deliberately. “ It seems too bad to put the 
lad to this inconvanience. I ’low, down ’mong ’em 
strangers it’ll be a purty sharp amazement for him 


NORMAN MEETS HIS ENEMY. 


27 


to prove his innercence, but the lad’s tongue tells a 
purty straight story. I disbelieve he was consarned 
in the killing o’ the deer.” 

Oh, ho ! so thet’s the way the stick floats with 
ye, Woodranger ? Mebbe ye know crossways, but 
Captain Blanchard has the name o’ being square and 
erbove board in his dealings. Ye can go down ef ye 
wanter, jess to show thet the deer jumped off’n the 
rock o’ its own free will. Ha, ha ! thet’s a kink fer 
ye to straighten.” 

‘‘ It would be easier done ’cording to my string o’ 
knots, than to fairly prove the lad was to blame for 
its killing. I’ve heerd o’ deer jumping off’n sich 
places out o’ a pure wish to end their days. Up 
north, some years sence, I see, myself, an old sick 
buck march plumb down and sort o’ throw hisself 
over a cliff o’ rock, where the leetle life left in him was 
knocked flat. I was laying in ambushment for him, 
but seeing the creetur’s intentions I jess waited to 
see what he would do. As I have said afore, I do 
not believe in wanton killing, and deer, ’cording to 
my mind, is next to the human family. This air 
rock has peculiar ’tractions for the low-spirited, and 
ther’ are them as say the ghost o’ poor Rimmon 
haunts the place, and it ain’t so onreasonable in the 
light o’ some other things.” 

Woodranger’s speech had reference to the legend 
current among the Indians that a daughter of the 


28 


THE WOODRANGER, 


mighty chief of the North, Chicorua, once fell in 
love with a Pennacook brave ; but her dusky lover 
proved recreant to Rimmon, as the maiden was 
called, and she, unable to credit the stories told of 
her betrothed, sought this locality by stealth to learn 
if reports were true concerning him. Alas for her 
hopes ! she was soon only too well satisfied of their 
truthfulness, and, rather than return to her home, 
in her grief and disappointment, she courted death 
by leaping from this high rock. Hence the name 
Rock Rimmon. 

How long has it been sence the Indian killer 
turned philosopher and begun to preach t ” demanded 
Gunwad, whose coarse nature failed to appreciate 
the sentiments of his companion. 

Let’s see,” said Woodranger, ignoring the other’s 
sneering words, “the law ag’in killing deer will be 
off afore you get the lad tried. If I remember right 
it was to last from the first day o’ January to the 
first day o’ August, and it being now nigh about six 
o’clock on the last day o’ July, there are only six 
hours or so left — ” 

“ What difference does thet make ? ” cried Gun- 
wad, with increasing anger. “ Ef ye keep me hyur 
till to-morrow morning it’ll be the same. But I ain’t 
trying the youngster. Ef he’ll kem erlong Squire 
Blanchard will settle his ’count.” 

“ And give you half the fine, I s’pose,” continued 


NORMAN MEETS HIS ENEMY. 29 

the imperturbable Woodranger, with his accustomed 
moderation. 

“ I shall ’arn it ! ” snapped the other. But it’s 
ye making me more trubble than he, Woodranger.” 

I have a plan by which I may be able to more 
than even things with you, Gunwad, as bad as I have 
been. What time will you start for Chelmsford in 
the morning ? ” 

An hour erfore sunup.” 

Where do you think o’ taking the lad to-night ? ” 

Down to Shepley’s.” 

“ He’s away, and the women folks might object to 
having a deer slayer in the house.” 

I shall stay with him.” 

They might object to you, too! But that ain’t 
neither here nor there. I reckon the lad’s folks are 
going to be greatly consarned over his disappearance, 
so I have been thinking it would be better to let him 
go home now.” 

Gunwad was about to utter an angry speech, when 
the three were startled by the ringing note of a bugle 
sounding sharply on the still afternoon air. The 
first peal had barely died away before it was fol- 
lowed by two others in rapid succession, louder, 
clearer, and more prolonged each time. 

It’s grandfather I ” exclaimed Norman, excitedly. 

There is something wrong at home.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 

** If I should agree to answer for the lad’s being 
on hand to-morrow morning an hour afore sunup, 
would you let him go home till then ^ ” asked Wood- 
ranger, the calmest one of the three, continuing the 
subject in his mind as if no interruption had oc- 
curred. 

As a matter of fact, Gunwad had been puzzling 
himself over the best method to adopt in order to 
keep his prisoner safely until he could deliver him 
over to the proper authorities. Of a cowardly, 
treacherous nature, he naturally had little confidence 
in others. He believed the youthful captive to be 
a dangerous person, knowing well the valour of the 
McNiels, though he would not have acknowledged 
to any one that he feared him. Woodranger’s prop- 
osition offered a way out of his dilemma without 
compromising himself, in case it should fail. Ac- 
cordingly he asked, with an eagerness the woodsman 
did not fail to observe : 

Would ye dare take the risk, Woodranger ? ” 

30 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 


31 


“ In season and out I have a knack o’ following 
my words like a deerhound on the track 0’ a stag.” 

‘‘I know it, Woodranger, so I hope ye won’t 
harbour enny feeling fer my question. Ef ye say 
ye’ll hev the youngster on hand at Shepley’s at 
sunrise, I shall let him be in yer hands. But, mind 
ye, I shall look to ye fer my divvy in the reward if 
he’s not on hand.” 

I will walk along with you, lad,” said the Wood- 
ranger, without replying to Gunwad, who remained 
watching them as they started away, muttering 
under his breath : 

I s’pose it’s risky to let the youngster off in his 
care. Twenty-four dollars ain’t to be picked up in 
these sand-banks every day, and I’m sure of it if 
I get the leetle fool to Chelmsford. It’s a pity to 
let sich a good fat deer go to waste, and I’ve a mind 
to help myself to as much meat as I can carry off. 
It’s no harm, seeing the killing is done, and I had 
no hand in it.” 

Glancing back as they were losing sight of Rock 
Rimmon, the Woodranger saw the deer reeve carry- 
ing out his intention, and laughed in his silent way. 

Norman was not only willing but glad to have the 
company of the woodsman, whose fame he had heard 
so often mentioned by the settlers. As soon as they 
were beyond the hearing of Gunwad, he thanked his 
companion for his kindly intervention. 


32 


THE WOODRANGER. 


‘‘ I have nary desire for you to mention it, lad. 
But if you don’t mind, you may tell me what you 
can of this deer killing. It may be only a concait o’ 
mine, but my sarvices may be desirable afore you 
get out’n this affair. In that case it might be well 
for me to know the full particulars.” 

You are very kind, Mr. — Mr. — ” 

*^You may call me Woodranger, as the rest do. 
Time may have been when I had another name, 
but this one suits me best now. If you have been 
in these parts very long, you may have heard 
of me, though I trust not through any malicious 
person. I ’low none o’ us are above having enemies. 
But I can see that you are anxious to get home, so 
tell me in a few words all you can about the deer.” 

‘‘There is really little to tell, Mr. Woodranger. 
I was lying on the top of Rock Rimmon when I 
heard Archer bark, and I felt sure he had started 
a deer near Cedar Swamp. Soon after, I heard some 
one fire a gun. A moment later I saw Christo, the 
friendly Indian, coming toward the cliff, but at sight 
of me he turned and went the other way.” 

“ So it was, as I thought, Christo who shot the 
deer. I’m sorry for that. The poor fellow has 
enough to answer for to pacify those who are de- 
termined to persecute him, simply because he is 
a red man. As if it was not enough to see the last 
foot o’ territory belonging to his race stripped from 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 33 

his tribe, and the last o’ his people driven off like 
leaves before an autumn wind.” 

This speech, coming from one whom he had heard 
of as an Indian fighter, seemed so strange to Norman 
that he exclaimed : 

So you are a friend to the Indians ! I supposed 
you hated them.” 

‘'We are all God’s critters, lad, and I hate not 
even the lowest. Though it has been my fortune to 
be pitted ag’inst the dusky varmints in some clus 
quarters, I never drew bead on an Injun with a 
wanton thought. Mebbe on sich ’casions as Love- 
well’s fight, where the blood of white and red ran 
ankle deep, and that Injun fiend, bold Paugus — 
Hark ! there’s the horn ag’in ! Your kin must be 
anxious about you. Ha ! how the old bugle awakes 
old-time memories. But don’t let me hinder you. I 
will meet you by the river to-morrer morning at sun- 
rise, when we can start for Chelmsford. By the 
way, I wish you wouldn’t say anything about Christo 
until I think it best.” 

Without further loss of time, Norman darted away 
from the Woodranger in a course which soon brought 
him in sight of the river. 

On the opposite bank of the stream the young 
refugee discovered his grandfather, still holding to 
his lips the horn which was awakening the wild-wood 
with its clear notes, as in years long since past it 


34 


THE WOODRANGER. 


had rung over the hills and vales of his native land^ 
At sight of Norman the aged bugler quickly removed 
his beloved instrument from his bearded lips, and 
while the echoes of the horn died slowly away he 
watched the approach of his grandson, who had 
pulled a canoe out from a bunch of bushes on the 
river bank and began his laborious trip across the 
rapid stream. 

In the years of his vigorous manhood Robert 
MacDonald must have been a typical Highlander of 
Bonnie Scotland. As he stood there on the bank 
of the river, in the shifting light of the setting sun, 
his thin, whitened locks tossed in the gentle breeze, 
and his spare form half supported by a stout staff, 
he looked like one of the patriarchs of old appearing 
in the midst of that wild-wood scene. If the passage 
of time had left deep tracks across a brow once lofty 
and white as snow, if the lines about the mouth had 
deepened into wrinkles and the loss of teeth allowed 
an unpleasant compression of the lips, his clear blue 
eyes had lost little if any of their old-time lustre. 
His face kindled with a new fire, as he watched the 
approach of Norman. 

He’s a noble laddie, every inch o’ him ! ” he 
mused, falling deeper into his native dialect as he 
continued : “ Weel, alack an’ a day, why should 

he no be a bonnie laddie wi’ the bluid o’ the Mac. 
Donalds an’ McNiels coorsin’ thro’ his veins. 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 


35 


Shame upon the ane wha wud bring dishonour tae 
sic a fair name. He has nane o’ his faith er’s weak- 
ness. He’s MacDonald, wi’ the best o’ the McNeil 
only. Hoo handy he is wi’ the skim-shell o’ a craft 
that looks ower licht tae waft a feather ower the 
brawlin’ burn.” 

“What can be the matter, grandfather, that you 
are so excited ^ ” asked Norman, as he ran the canoe 
upon the sandy bank and leaped out. 

“It’s the wee lassie. She left me awhile since 
tae look for the geese, an’ she hasna cum back. 
She’s been awa a lang time.” 

“ I would not worry, grandfather. You know the 
geese have an inclination to get back to their kind 
at old Archie’s. But I will lose no time in going to 
help Rilma fetch them home.” 

“ Dae sae, my braw laddie, for I’m awfu’ shilly 
the day. I canna tell thee it was a catamount’s cry, 
but it did hae the soond tae my auld ear. But dinna 
credit ower muckle an auld man’s ears, which dinna 
hear sae clear as on the day the redcoats mowed 
doon the auld clan at Glencoe.” 

At the mention of the word “catamount ” Norman 
felt a sudden fear. He knew that a pair of the dreaded 
creatures had been seen in the vicinity several times 
of late, and that the presence of the geese would be 
likely to call them from their skulking-places in the 
dense forest skirting the few log houses near by. So 


3 ^ 


THE WOODRANGER. 


leaving his aged relative to follow at his leisure, he 
bounded up the path leading to the house. Thinking 
of his empty gun, he was anxious to get a new supply 
of powder before putting himself in the pathway of 
any possible danger. 

All of the dwellings of Tyng Township were of 
the most primitive character. There being no saw- 
mill on the river at that period, the houses were built 
of hewn or unhewn logs, as the fancy or capacity for 
work of the owner dictated. The MacDonald cot- 
tage was smaller than the average, but the logs 
making its four walls had been hewn on the inside. 
The building was low-storied, and had small open- 
ings or loop-holes for windows, over which small 
mats of skins had been arranged to stop the aper- 
tures whenever it was desired. Originally the space 
of the building had been divided into only two apart- 
ments on the lower floor, but one of these had been 
subdivided, so there were two sleeping-rooms, one 
for Rilma and another for Mr. MacDonald, besides 
the living room, on the first floor. Norman occupied 
the unfinished loft for his bedchamber. Some of the 
houses of Tyng Township, or Old Harrytown, as it 
was quite as frequently called, had no floor, but in 
this hewn logs embedded in the sand and cemented 
along the seams or cracks afforded a solid founda- 
tion. A stone chimney at one end carried off the 
s^ioke from the wide-mouthed fireplace, which added 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 2>7 

a cheerfulness as well as genial warmth in cold 
weather to the primitive dwelling. 

The furnishing of this typical frontier house was 
in keeping with its surroundings. The kitchen, or 
room first entered, which served as sitting-room, par- 
lour, dining-room, and living apartment, was supplied 
with a three-legged table, a relic of ancient days that 
had been the gift of a neighbour, two old chairs 
which had been repaired from some broken ones, 
while a rude bench answered for a third seat. In 
one corner was an iron-bound chest, which had been 
the only piece of furniture, if it deserved that name, 
that had been brought from their native land. It 
held the plain wardrobes of the three. Hanging to 
the sooty crane in the fireplace was an iron pot, 
while in a niche in the rocky wall was a pewter pot, 
a frying-pan, and a skillet. In another small opening 
cut higher in the side of the building reposed the 
scanty supply of household utensils, a couple of pewter 
spoons, two wooden spoons, three knives, a couple of 
broken cups, a pewter dipper, and three wooden forks, 
with four rude plates made from two thicknesses of 
birch bark. There was also a small earthen pot. 

Over the fireplace, hung on pegs driven in the 
chinks of the logs, was a long-barrelled musket of 
Scottish pattern, whose bruised stock and dinted 
iron bespoke hard usage. This was the weapon 
Robert MacDonald had carried in the desperate 


38 


THE WOODRANGER, 


fight at Glencoe, when his clan had been completely 
routed by the English. Near by hung a powder- 
horn, grotesquely carved like an imp’s head, and in 
close companionship was a bullet-pouch. Near it 
was another peg, the usual resting-place of an even 
more highly prized relic than any of these ancient 
pieces of property, namely, the bugle with which 
the old Highlander had called home the truant 
Norman. 

The room, though rudely furnished, bore every 
trace of neatness and thrift, with an air of comfort 
in spite of its simple environments. The rough 
places in the walls were concealed by wreaths 
of leaves and ferns, and the table was bordered 
with a frill made of maple leaves knit together 
by their stems. On a shelf, made of pins driven into 
the wall, lay three books, one of them a volume of 
hymns, the second a collection of Scottish songs and 
ballads, while the third was a manuscript book of 
records of the Clan MacDonald, with some added 
notes of the McNiels. 

The door was made by four small poles fastened 
together at the corners with wooden pins and strings 
cut from deer hide, the whole covered with a bear 
skin carefully tanned and the fur closely trimmed. 

In his anxiety to go in search of Rilma, Norman 
did not stop to replenish his horn from the general 
supply of powder, but snatched that of his grand- 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 39 

father from its peg, and, loading his gun as he went 
along, left the house. 

His home was near a small tributary of the Merri- 
mack, which joined the main stream a short distance 
below the falls. The house stood a short distance 
back from what was considered the main road of the 
locality, a regularly laid out highway running from 
Namaske to the adjoining town of Nutfield or Lon- 
donderry, and following an old Indian trail. This 
road also led, a short distance (half a mile) above the 
falls, past two or three dwellings, to a more spacious 
log house which was the home of another Scottish 
family by the name of Stark. Archibald Stark, the 
head of this household, was a fine representative of 
his race, and he and his beautiful wife, with their 
seven children, four boys and three girls, were a 
typical frontier family, cheerful, rugged, hospitable, 
and progressive. 

As the geese which had caused Rilma to leave her 
home had been the gift of Bertha Stark, the oldest 
daughter of the family, Norman hurried toward the 
home of these people, never doubting but he should 
find Rilma loitering there to continue some girlish 
gossip. 

Soon after crossing the brook, however, his sharp 
eyes discovered fresh footprints in the soft earth 
near the bank of the stream and along a path leading 
to a small pond in the brook, where the water had 


40 


THE WOODRANGER. 


been held back by a dam of fallen brushwood. He 
was sure the tracks had been made by Rilma. 

“ The geese have got away from her and gone to 
the Pool,” he concluded. shall find her there. 
Better still, by waiting here I can head off the fool- 
ish geese from going back to their old home, as they 
will be pretty sure to do.” 

He had barely come to this conclusion, when he 
was startled by a loud squawk, quickly followed by a 
scream. 

Something was wrong ! He bounded along the 
narrow pathway toward the scene, while the outcries 
continued with increasing volume. 

Meanwhile Rilma, having been obliged to go quite 
to Mr. Stark’s house to find her truants, was return- 
ing with them, as Norman had imagined, when, on 
reaching the path leading to the little pond, the con- 
trary creatures darted toward the Pool with loud 
cries. She followed, but not swift enough to stop 
the runaways. 

The geese had gained the bank of the little pond, 
and she was following a few yards behind them, 
when a dark form sprang from a thicket bordering 
the pathway, and seized the foremost goose. 

Thinking at first it was a dog attacking her geese, 
Rilma called out sharply to the brute, as she bounded 
toward the spot. But a second glance showed her 
not a dog but a big wildcat ! 


A PERILOUS PREDICAMENT. 4 1 

Nothing daunted by this startling discovery, the 
brave girl flourished the stick she carried in her hand 
and ran to defend the poor goose. So furiously did 
she rain her blows about the wildcat’s head that it 
dropped its prey and sprang upon her ! With one 
sweep of its paw it tore the stout dress from her 
shoulder and left the marks of its cruel claws in 
her flesh. But the squawking goose, fluttering about 
on the ground, seemed a more tempting bait for the 
wildcat, which abandoned its attack on Rilma and 
sprang again on the goose. 

Flung to the ground by the fierce assault of the 
beast, Rilma quickly regained her feet, and, seeing 
her favourite goose in deadly danger, she again 
attempted its rescue, although the blood was flowing 
in a stream from the wound in her shoulder. It was 
at this moment that Norman appeared on the scene. 

Rilma and the catamount were engaged in too 
close a combat for him to shoot the creature without 
endangering her life, so he shouted for her to retreat, 
as he rushed to her assistance. But it was now 
impossible for her to do that. Having torn her 
dress nearly from her, and aroused at the sight of 
the blood flowing so freely, the enraged beast was 
in the act of fixing its terrible teeth in Rilma’s body, 
when Norman pushed the muzzle of the gun into the 
wildcat’s mouth, and pulled the trigger. 

A dull report followed, and the catamount fell 


42 


THE WOODRANGER. 


over dead. Norman was about to bear Rilma, who 
was now unconscious from pain and fright, away 
from the place, when a terrific snarl rang in his 
ears from over his head ! Looking up, he saw to 
his horror a second wildcat, mate to the other, lying 
on the branch of an overhanging tree, and in the act 
of springing upon him ! 


CHAPTER V. 


JOHNNY STARK. 

Norman McNiel did not possess an excitable 
nature, and his thoughts did not flow with that 
acute swiftpess so common to some persons, but 
he more than made up for this by a clearer com- 
prehension of matters. The sight of the wildcat, 
preparing to give its fatal spring, did not rob him 
of his presence of mind, though he realised that 
in a hand-to-hand encounter with the brute he was 
likely to become its victim. Still, the possibility of 
deserting Rilma was something he did not for a 
moment consider. He would defend her until the 
last. Accordingly, as the second growl of the 
aroused animal grated harshly on his ears, he 
caught his gun by its barrel and stood ready to use 
it as a club. 

Then the long tail of the creature lashed its sides, 
and its lissom form shot toward him like a cannon 
ball. But, as the wildcat left its perch, there was 
a flash so near Norman’s head that he was almost 
blinded, and the report of a firearm rang out. An- 
43 


44 


THE WOODRANGER. 


other and louder growl came from the catamount, as 
it fell at his feet in the throes of death. 

Look out she don’t get her claws on you ! ” cried 
a voice at his elbow, a warning Norman quickly 
obeyed, pulling Rilma away with him. 

She dies hard,” affirmed the newcomer, advanc- 
ing to the side of Norman, ‘‘ but I reckon that lead 
was run for her. If I had been a minute later you 
would have had a tussle old Woodranger himself 
might not have cared for.” 

The speaker, who made this remark with the 
unconcern and cool criticism of a man with years 
of experience as a hunter, was in reality but a boy 
of eleven years of age, though as large as the major- 
ity are at thirteen or fourteen. He was not prepos- 
sessing in his looks. His countenance was marred 
by a beaked nose and chin inclined to meet it, while 
his skin was abundantly tattooed with freckles, and 
his coarse hair verged on an unhappy reddish hue. 
But the dark blue eyes redeemed somewhat the 
plainness of the other features, and his independ- 
ent, perfect self-control of spirit more than made up 
for the slight Dame Nature had given him in other 
respects. He was familiarly called Johnny or Jack 
Stark by his playmates and companions, and he 
afterward became the celebrated General Stark, the 
hero of Bennington. 

‘‘You are right, Johnny,” exclaimed Norman, 


JOHNNY STARK. 


45 


*‘and if your hand had not been steady and eye 
true neither Rilma nor I would ever have lived to 
thank you for your coming. Poor lassie ! I fear she 
has been — no ! She opens her eyes, — she lives ! 
You have no more to fear, dear sister ; they are both 
dead. Don’t move if it hurts you. Jack and I will 
carry you home.” 

Though not inclined to show deep emotion, 
Norman exhibited great joy at the returning con- 
sciousness of Rilma, whom he loved with all the 
tender regard of one who feels that another is all the 
world to him. Gently he placed the tattered dress 
about the bleeding form and with his haijid wiped away 
the blood from the wounds made by the wildcat. 

‘‘ Old Mother Hester ! ” cried Rilma, quickly gain- 
ing her feet, “ did the horrid creature kill her ? ” 

Norman understood that “ Mother Hester ” was 
the name she had given to the poor goose, whose 
mangled body, torn and lace/ated beyond recognition, 
lay a short distance away. 

She is dead, Rilma, but let us be thankful that you, 
too, were not killed. If I had been a minute later you 
would have been overpowered by the fearful cat, 
and then Jack saved us both from the other. But 
they are dead, and we have no more to fear from 
them.” 

Although grieved over the loss of her favourite 
goose, Rilma felt thankful that she had escaped with 


46 


THE WOODRANGER. 


even the dreadful scratches of the wildcat, none of 
which had been very deep. 

can walk, dear brother; and I want to get 
away from this place as soon as possible. Jack will 
look after the other goose for us.” 

Taking the hint, Norman led her gently along the 
path, saying as he did so : 

“ Won’t you come with us. Jack } ” 

“I think I will, Norman, as I have something 
I want to say to you as soon as you feel like hearing 
it. I was on my way to your house when I heard 
your shot, and hurried to your assistance. I will 
make myself useful, too, by carrying home the body 
of the dead goose and driving the other along. 
Some one can come up and look after the wildcats 
later.” 

‘‘You are very thoughtful, Jack, as well as brave. 
I do not believe there is another boy of your age who 
could have shot that wildcat as you did.” 

“You say that because you do not know Rob 
Rogers. He shot a big black bear, that was nosing 
around his father’s house, when he was only seven, 
and you know I am almost eleven. Robby, since 
he has begun to go with Woodranger, has become 
a mighty hunter, and he’s only fourteen now.” 

The conversation was checked at this point by the 
appearance of Mr. MacDonald, who had heard the 
firing and was greatly excited over the affair. 


JOHNNY STARK. 


47 


Oh, my bairns ! he cried, hoo gled I am tae 
find that ye hae na been — Why, my wee lassie ! 
What hae they been doing to ye ? ” 

Norman gave a brief account of the encounter 
with the wildcats, his grandfather catching up Rilma 
in his arms and bearing her toward the house as he 
finished, forgetful of his infirmities. The old High- 
lander sobbed like a child at intervals, while alter- 
nately he would burst forth into expressions of 
endearment and thankfulness in his picturesque 
speech. 

Seeing that Rilma was being cared for, Norman 
started back to help Johnny Stark find the surviving 
goose, which was found skulking in the bushes nearly 
frightened to death. Catching it after some trouble, 
Norman carried it homeward in his arms, while 
Johnny bore the body of its dead mate. 

I will get father to send Goodman Roberts to 
look after the carcasses of the wildcats, as soon as 
I get home,” said the latter, as he walked at the 
heels of Norman, the path being too narrow at 
places for a couple to walk abreast. ‘‘What I 
wanted to speak to you about,” he continued, “was 
the canoe match which is talked of to take place on 
the river next month. You know three Scotch hoys 
are to race against three English boys. Brother Bill 
and Robby Rogers have been chosen to represent 
our side, and we want another. We have spoken 


48 


THE WOODRANGER. 


to father about it, and he agrees with us that you are 
the one. Now will you do it } ” 

“ Of course I am willing to do anything I can, but 
I am afraid I have not had as much practice as I need. 
You know I have not been here as long as the rest 
of you, though nothing suits me better than a paddle 
on the water.” 

‘‘ You’ll have over a month in which to practise. 
I’ll risk you, and so will the others. I understand 
John Goffe is to be one of their crew, though no one 
seems to know who the others will be. Johnny is 
a good one with the paddles, but he is nowhere with 
Rob. Bill will beat anybody else they can get, and 
with you to help our side will be safe.” 

“You mustn’t be overconfident, Johnny, but if 
I take hold I will do the best I can.” 

By the time they had reached the house Norman 
had decided to accept the invitation to take part in 
the canoe match, and Johnny Stark, having per- 
formed his errand successfully, lost no further time 
in running home to tell the good news. 

Mr. MacDonald dressed Rilma’s wounds as best 
he could, with the simple means at his command, 
though she bravely declared that she did not suffer 
any pain. 

It was then getting to be quite dark, and, lighting 
his corn-cob pipe, Mr. MacDonald took his favourite 
position in the doorway to smoke and meditate over 


JOHNNY STARK. 


49 


the events of his checkered life. These had ever 
been hallowed occasions to Norman and Rilma, who 
had sat at his feet for many an hour listening to the 
pathetic tales of which he seemed to have no end. 
In these twilight talks they had heard him tell over 
and over again, until every word was familiar to them, 
the stories of the fate of the brave MacDonalds in 
the Pass of Glencoe, and the downfall of the last of 
the McNiels. 

On this evening Rilma had lain down on her 
simple couch for rest and release from the pain of 
her wounds, so that Norman was alone with his 
grandfather. 

Ha, ma laddie ! ” broke in Mr. MacDonald. 
‘‘Ye’re that glum ye dinna seem like yersel’ the 
nicht. Trouble na ower the few scratches o’ a cat, 
the bonnie lassie wull sune be hersel’,” he con- 
tinued, attributing Norman’s silence to thoughts of 
Rilma. 

“ I must confess, grandfather, I was not thinking 
of poor Rilma, though I ought to be ashamed to 
own it. I was thinking of a little affair which 
happened this afternoon, and how best I could 
break it to you. I would have spoken of it before, 
but I did not wish to arouse Rilma’s fears.” 

With the characteristic reserve of his nature, the 
old Highlander removed his pipe from his lips with- 
out speaking, signifying as plainly by his silence as 


50 


THE WOODRANGER. 


he might have done by words his desire for an ex- 
planation. At a loss how to begin, Norman hesitated 
for a time, the only sound heard above the steady 
roar of Namaske being the mournful cries of a 
whippoorwill in the direction of Rock Rimmon, 
until finally he gave a detailed account of his arrest 
by Gunwad for hunting deer out of season. 

Ha, ma laddie ! ” exclaimed his grandfather, when 
he had finished. ‘‘Ye dinna want tae be low-speerited 
wi’ anxiety ower that, though it does look a bit squally 
for ye. I’m gled ye telt the auld man, for noo he’ll 
ken just hoo tae trim his licht. Then, tae, an auld 
man’s counsel may na cum amiss wi’ a young 
heid.” 

“ Grandfather, I had no more to do with hunting 
or killing that deer than you did.” 

“ In intent, my braw laddie. But ye maun remem- 
ber I never crossed the brawlin’ stream. But avaunt 
wi’ sic nonsense ! It behooves us tae see what can 
be dune for ye, noo ye hae fa’en in the net.” 

“ Can they do anything with me, grandfather } 
Woodranger bade me be hopeful.” 

“Wha is this Woodranger, laddie, that ye speak 
sae freely o ’ } I dinna ken but I may hae heard the 
name afore.” 

“ He is a man who lives by hunting and scouting, 
grandfather. During the Indian troubles he did 
great service to the families who were molested by 


JOHNNY STARK. 


51 


the red men, and everybody seems to like him. He 
has been all over the country, and he is very friendly 
to me.” 

Is he Scotch, laddie ? That maks a’ the differ- 
ence in the warld in this affair.” 

“ I am not sure, though I should say he is. He 
seems very honest.” 

** Hoot ! awa wi’ yer nonsense if ye canna tell an 
Englishman frae a Scotchman. Let me but get my 
auld een on him an’ I’ll tell ye if he’s a true 
laddie. What’s his name ? ” 

‘^Just what I told you, grandfather, — Wood- 
ranger. At least that is all he would give me.” 

A bit against him, laddie. But allooin’ he is yer 
f reend, I am a bit feart ye’re nae pleasant fixed. This 
Gun wad ye say is an Englishman ? ” 

‘5 1 have no doubt of that. I can see that this 
foolish feeling between the colonists is going to be 
against me.” 

Ah, ma laddie, that’s whaur the shoe grips ! 
Every Englishman, wumman, and bairn looks on us 
as intruders, as they dae every Presbyterian, wha they 
hate waur than wildcats. I see noo I did mak’ a bit 
o’ a mistak’ in droppin’ here, but auld Archie Stark 
thocht it was best for us. I dinna ken whaur this 
misunderstandin’ is gaen tae end. Seems tae me it 
will be the destruction o’ baith pairties. But dinna ye 
lat this little maitter cum intae yer dreams, my 


52 


THE WOODRANGER. 


laddie. Sleep gie’s ane a clear heid, an' it's a 
clear heid ye’ll need the morn amang the Britishers 
at Chelmsford." 

Taking this hint, Norman, after having seen that 
Rilma was as comfortable as could be expected, 
sought his humble couch under the rough rafters 
of his pioneer home. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. 

After a restless sleep Norman was astir an hour 
before sunrise. His grandfather was already up and 
preparing a breakfast for him. 

** You maun eat, ma laddie. It seems unco’ that ye 
maun gang tae meet thae Britishers alane. I fain 
wad gang wi’ ye.” 

‘‘ That cannot be, grandfather. It would not do 
to leave Rilma here alone. Never fear but I shall 
come back safely.” 

As soon as he had eaten hastily of the plain meal, 
Norman kissed Rilma and taking his gun started to 
leave the house. 

If the lassie disna mind. I’ll walk wi’ ye tae the 
river’s bank,” said his grandfather. ‘‘I’ll nae be 
gane lang, lassie, so hae nae fear.” 

Norman felt that his grandfather’s real object in 
accompanying him was to get a look, if possible, at 
the Woodranger, who was expected to meet him on 
the river bank. But nothing of the kind was said 
until they came in sight of the stream, when they 
S3 


54 


THE WOODRANGER. 


discovered the forester already on hand. He had 
crossed over to the east bank, and at sight of 
Norman said : 

I am glad you are so promptly here, lad ; it 
shows a good mark to be prompt. It always pays to 
be prompt. As we shall have to go down on this 
side, I thought I would come over and save — ” 

Woodranger, with a sudden change in his de- 
meanour unusual to him, stopped in the midst of 
his speech, to fix his gaze closely on the old High- 
lander. The latter was eyeing him no less intently. 
Anxious to break the embarrassing silence, Norman 
said, quickly ; 

My grandfather, Woodranger. He felt so anx- 
ious about me that he has come down to see me 
fairly started.” 

“ So yo’ air Woodranger .? ” asked Mr. MacDonald, 
as if such a thing was not possible, while shifting 
looks of doubt, curiosity, fear, and confidence crossed 
his features. The forester soon recovered his wonted 
composure, replying to the other’s interrogation : 

“ Men call me that, MacDonald. I have heerd o’ 
you, and I’m glad to meet you. I hope you have no 
undue consarn over the lad.” 

‘‘Th’ laddie is puir, Woodranger,” cried the old 
man, putting aside further reserve and grasping the 
forester’s hand. Yo’ll hel’ him out o’ this trouble.?” 

He shall not lack for a friend. I trust the lad 


THE MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. 55 

will have no great difficulty. Where is the dog, 
lad.?” 

‘‘ Gone, Woodranger, but I do not know where. I 
thought perhaps Gunwad took him with him. I did 
not see him after I met you.” 

‘‘I see him sneaking through the woods as if he 
had committed some grievous misdeed, but thought 
he might be pulling home.” 

“ Ye’re no in sympathy wi’ thae Britishers .? ” asked 
Mr. MacDonald at this juncture. 

Nay, old man ; I’m neutral. It is a foolish 
quarrel and no good can come o’ it.” 

Neutral ! ” exclaimed the old Highlander, to 
whom, with his stubborn, aggressive nature, such a 
thing seemed impossible, and then a new shade of 
misapprehension came over his countenance, as he 
scrutinised the ranger’s rifle. 

A French weapon 1 ” he exclaimed. Nae guid 
can come o’ a man’s bein’ neutral an’ a-carryin’ a 
French gun.” 

‘‘ We are in luck, lad,” said Woodranger, ignoring 
the last speech of Mr. MacDonald. “ I I’arned last 
evening that Captain Blanchard had come to Tyng 
Township yesterday, so I see him and he says you 
can be tried without going to Chelmsford. That will 
save you twenty-five miles o’ walking.” 

<< I am glad of that ! ” exclaimed Norman, and I 
hail it as a good omen. Do you hear that, grand- 


56 


THE WOODRANGER. 


father ? I have not got to go to Chelmsford to have 
my trial.” 

Mr. MacDonald only shook his head, seeming too 
much engrossed over the appearance of the Wood- 
ranger to reply by words. 

I don’t like to cut short any speech you wish to 
make to the old man, lad, but it’s time we were on 
our way. A mile or more o’ the river has run by 
sence we stopped here. It’s an ’arly start that 
makes an ’arly end to the jarney. Good morning, 
Mr. MacDonald ; have no undue consam over the 
lad.” 

Fully understanding the Woodranger’s anxiety to 
meet Gun wad promptly, Norman hastily caught the 
hand of his grandfather, as he murmured his good- 
bye, while the forester moved silently away. 

‘‘I jest want to say a word to ye, ma laddie,” said 
Mr. MacDonald, in an undertone. ‘‘ I dinna ken whut 
to mak o’ this man ca’d Woodranger, but ye canna 
be owre careful. He carries a French weapon, an’ 
is neutral in a quarrel whin every true Scot shud 
Stan’ by his colours. I dinna ken what tae mak o’ 
the man.” 

With this dubious warning, which no words of 
Norman could shake, he stood there watching the 
twain until their forms had disappeared in the dis- 
tance. Even then he hesitated about starting home- 
ward. His head continued to move back and forth. 


THE MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. 


57 


and his lips became tightly compressed, as if fearful 
they might allow something to escape that he was 
anxious to conceal. 

Tyng Township comprised a strip of territory 
three miles wide, and extending six miles along the 
east bank of the river, so it was not necessary for 
them to cross over. In fact, that would have neces- 
sitated a return to that side before reaching their des- 
tination. After leaving his home Norman saw but 
a few houses for some distance, the land being little 
more than sand patches, and too poor to support a 
crop of any kind. 

I do not wonder it is called Old Harrytown,” Nor- 
man said, as he noticed this, and they say only the 
Old Harry could live here.” 

‘‘Tyng’s men got a bad bargain when they got it,” 
said the Woodranger. Though it may be that they 
think more of the fish than the soil. They be fat 
and plenty. The deer, too, are sleek ; but they are 
fading away with the red hunter. Sich be the great 
unwritten law that a man’s associates must go with 
him.” 

They had not gone more than a mile before they 
were met by Gunwad, who showed his satisfaction at 
seeing them. 

<‘Was afeerd th’ feller mought gin ye th’ slip, 
Woodranger.” 

The forester making no reply to this statement. 


58 


THE WOODRANGER. 


the three walked on in silence, the appearance of 
the deer reeve putting an end to all conversation. 

Another mile down the stream they began to come 
in sight of the log houses of the pioneers, who were 
trying under adverse circumstances to found them- 
selves homes in the new town. As they came in 
sight of one of these typical homes, they saw a tall, 
cadaverous man mounted on the top of a blackened 
log fence surrounding a cleared patch bordering the 
house. He was bareheaded, and had no covering 
for his feet, save a generous coating of dirt, and his 
lank body was clad in a coarse shirt, made, by long 
contact with the earth, the colour of the soil, and a 
pair of gray homespun trousers stopping short in their 
downward career a little below the knees. As he 
sat there on his elevated perch, his long arms were 
doubled akimbo over his knees, which stuck up 
sharp and pointed. 

At first it looked as if his occupation was the 
watching of the gyrations of one of his big toes, as 
it scraped back and forth on the charred surface 
of the log, but a closer inspection showed that he 
was gazing at a patch of broad-leaved plants looking 
suspiciously like that much despised weed of lane 
and pasture, the mullein. But if so, it had been cul- 
tivated with assiduous care, and had flourished like 
‘‘the green bay-tree” of the story- writer. 

At sight of our party he suddenly checked the 


THE MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. 59 

movements of his toe, his jaws stopped their rapid 
grinding, and he cried out in a shrill, piping voice : 

Hello, Ranger ! Wot in creation is yer sweeping 
by fer like a falling hemlock ? Ain’t fergot an ol’ 
man in his weakness, hev ye ? ” 

*‘Not a forgit, Zack Bitlock, but as we have a 
lettle amazement with ’Squire Blanchard we wanted 
to be sure and get to him afore he should leave for 
down the river. A fine morning.” 

“ Mornin’s well ’nough ; ’bout as ye air mind to 
look at yit. But it’s pesky gloomy to me. Say, 
Ranger, I kalkilate ye mus’ be a tol’rable good jedge 
o’ ’backer .? ” 

“ Mebbe I know the leaf from dock root, though 
I can’t say as I’m much o’ a jedge o’ the quality, 
Zack, seeing I never — ” 

Look a-here. Ranger ! I want yer honest opine 
consarnin’ thet air stuff,” pointing, as he spoke, to 
the rows of green, broad-leaved plants adorning his 
primitive garden, and comprising most of its con- 
tents. 

Approaching the fence, the Woodranger looked 
over, saying, after a brief survey of the scene : 

'' I see leetle but mullein, though I must say, while 
not claiming to be an apt jedge in sich matters, it 
has made a good growth. How is it, Zack, you give 
so much ’tention to raising sich useless truck, though 
it be said it is excellent for cattle } ” 


6o 


THE WOODRANGER. 


<*It’s my gol-danged foolishness,. Ranger, which 
made me spend my valer’ble time raising sich truck. 
I ain’t got no cattle to feed it. My ol’ woman ’lowed 
it was mullein a goodish spell ago, but I larfed at 
her. An’ then, when I see thet she wuz right an’ 
I wuz wrong, like the hog I wuz, I had to hoi’ my 
mouth and keep on growing mullein ! Gol dang ! To 
think, I, Zack Bitlock, in my sound mind an’ com- 
mon sense, sh’u’d be a-weedin’ out an’ prunin’ up an’ 
’tendin’ mullein, thinkin’ all th’ while ’twas ’backer ! ” 

“ How did it happen, Zack t ” askeS Woodranger, 
who could not help smiling at the look of utter dis- 
gust and shame on the other’s wrinkled countenance. 

‘‘ It all kem o’ my blamed smartness ! Ye see I 
figger yit out like this. Joe Butterfield, he don’t 
pertend to know more’n other folks, an’ so las’ year 
he kem to me an’ wanted to know what was th’ bes’ 
thing to make taters grow. He had seed mine 
climbin’ like all creation, and seein’ he wuz too 
blamed green to raise ennything but fun fer his 
betters, I tole him th’ very bes’ thing was rotten 
hemlock, an’ to put a chockin’ handful in each hill. 
Well, what did th’ dried-in-the-oven fool do but fol- 
low my ’vice, only he put a double portion in each 
hill, so as to beat me at my own game, I s’pose. I 
larfed to myself all th’ while ’em taters didn’t stick 
up a top. Ye see th’ hemlock wuz so durned dryin’ 
it jess baked the taters afore they c’u’d sprout. Joe 


THE MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. 6 1 

laid it to th’ seed, an’ I s’posed thet wuz the las’ o’ 
it, ’ceptin’ a good stock o’ jokes I had laid in fer 
spare talk with Joe. 

“But I can see now th’ critter was sharper’n I 
’lowed, an’ he mus’ hev smelled a mice. So when 
I kem to ’quire fer backer plants he gin me more’n 
I wanted. Leastways he give me what I s’posed 
wuz backer plants, an’ now, drat my pictur’ ! ef I 
ain’t been ’tendin’ an’ nussin’ ’em blamed ol’ mulleins, 
an’ a-workin’ my jaws all th’ while, thinkin’ what 
a Thanksgivin’ I’d hev chowin’ th’ backer. Oh ! 
th’ fool ingineuity o’ some men ! ” 

Smiling at the evident disappointment and chagrin 
of Zack Bitlock, Woodranger started on, when the 
other called out to him.: 

“ Say ! seems to me ye hev got a smart start fer 
th’ shootin’-match.” 

“ I can’t say that I’ve given the matter a thought, 
Zack. Been away perambulating the forests for a 
good space o’ time.” 

“ A shootin’-match, an’ ye not know yit. Ranger ? 
I do vum ! thet’s amazin’. But there is to be a 
tall shoot at th’ Pines this mornin’. Cap’en Goffe 
is to be there, an’ Dan Stevens ; an’ I overheerd 
las’ evenin’ Rob Rogers wuz to kem. Everybuddy’ll 
be on hand. Coorse ye’ll go now, Ranger } ” 

“Onsartain, Zack, onsartain. If we have time 
the lad and I may be there. Good morning.” 


62 


THE WOODRANGER. 


“Ye may be thar, Woodranger, an’ I see no 
reason w’y ye shouldn’t ; but with th’ youngster 
it’ll be different. I reckon he’ll be fur from hyur 
then, ’less my plans miscarry,” said Gunwad, who 
had been silent. 

Without noticing this speech, the forester moved 
ahead at a rate of speed which showed he was 
anxious to make up for the few minutes lost in 
conversation with Goodman Bitlock. Norman kept 
close beside him, while Gunwad, the deer reeve, 
followed at his heels. 

Zack Bitlock did not shift his position on the 
fence until he had watched them out of sight, when 
he left his perch, exclaiming : 

“Blamed queer ef th’ ol’ Ranger is goin’ to er 
shoot an’ won’t own yit ! Thar’s sumthin’ afoot. 
But I’ll I’arn their dodge or I ain’t up to shucks,” 
and without further delay he shuffled down the road 
after the others. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Norman’s trial. 

The destination of Norman and his companions 
was a small settlement at the lower end of Tyng 
Township called Goffe’s Village, out of respect to 
one of its foremost inhabitants, John Goffe, after- 
ward known as Colonel Goffe the Ranger, 

This little hamlet stood at the mouth of a small 
stream known as Cohas Brook, which flowed into 
the Merrimack five miles below the Falls of Na- 
maske. 

. Before reaching Goffe’s Village, Norman and his 
companions passed a cross-road leading over the 
hill and toward the Scotch-Irish settlement on the 
east. About a mile up this road, at a point called 
‘‘The Three Pines,” or “Chestnut Corners,” the 
shooting-match was expected to take place during 
the forenoon. 

As Tyng Township was settled during an inter- 
val of peace, there was no fort or garrison within 
its limits. Neither was there a public house of 
63 


64 


THE WOODRANGER. 


any kind, so Norman must be tried at the house 
of one of the most active inhabitants of the town, 
this having been arranged for by the Woodranger. 

Somewhat to our hero’s surprise, several persons 
were gathered about the house, as early as it was, 
and he knew by their looks and low-spoken speeches 
that they had been watching for his coming. In 
fact, though he did not know it, Gunwad had taken 
great pains to circulate the story of his arrest, and 
had boasted loudly that his trial would be worth 
attending. News of that kind travels fast, and, as 
short as the time had been, quite a crowd had 
collected, some coming several miles from the ad- 
joining town, Londonderry, the former home of the 
Scotch-Irish now in Harrytown. 

Among the others was a boy of fourteen, who 
attracted more than his share of attention. His 
name was Robert Rogers, and he was destined to 
be known within a few years, not only throughout 
New England but the entire country, as chief of that 
famous band of Indian fighters, “ Rogers’s Rangers.” 
Already he was considered a crack shot with the 
rifle, and the fleetest runner in that vicinity. A 
strong bond of friendship bound him to the Wood- 
ranger, who had become his tutor in the secrets and 
hidden ways of woodcraft. No doubt he owed much 
of his future success to this early training. He 
was strongly and favourably impressed by the ap- 


NORMAN^S TRIAL. 65 

pearance of Norman, and he said aside to a com- 
panion : 

He’s a likely youth ; and mind you, Mac, if they 
are overhard with him there’s going to be trouble,” 
an expression finding an echo in older hearts there, 
though the others were more cautious in their 
utterances. 

Hush, Robby ! ” admonished the boy’s friend ; 
“say nothing rash. Captain Blanchard has the 
credit of being an extremely fair man, and, withal, 
one with a handy knack of getting out of a bad 
scrape easily. Here he comes, as prompt as 
usual.” 

Norman was being led into the house by Gunwad, 
who had now assumed charge of his prisoner. They 
were met at the door by a tall, rather austere ap- 
pearing man, whom our hero knew by the little he 
had overheard was ’Squire Blanchard. 

“You are promptly on hand, Goodman Gunwad,” 
said the latter; “come right in this way,” escorting 
the little party into the house, which was more com- 
modious than most of the dwellings. 

The deer reeve frowned at the salutation of Cap- 
tain Blanchard, for it did not please him. Notwith- 
standing the simplicity of those times, a stronger 
class feeling existed than is known to-day. As a 
distinguishing term, the expression “ Mister,” which 
we apply without reserve or distinction, was given 


66 


THE WOODRANGER. 


only to those who were looked upon as in the upper 
class, “ Goodman ” being used in its place when a 
person of supposed inferior position was addressed. 
The cause for Gunwad’s vexation is apparent, as he 
aspired to rank higher than a Goodman.” But he 
thought it policy to conceal his chagrin, though no 
doubt it made him more irritable in the scenes which 
followed. 

At the same time that the prisoner was led into 
the house by his captor, a small group of men, in the 
unmistakable dress of the Scotch-Irish, and headed 
by a tall, bony young man named John Hall, gathered 
about the door. 

Woodranger nodded familiarly to these stern-look- 
ing men, but before entering the house he turned to 
speak to a medium-sized man, with the air of a 
woodsman and the breeding of a gentleman about 
him. He was none other than Captain Goffe, who, 
while he did not belong to the Tyng colony, was 
living in the midst of these men. It is safe to say 
that he was on friendly terms with every person 
present, or who might be there that day. The spec- 
tators, noticing this brief consultation between the 
forester and the soldier-scout, nodded their heads 
knowingly. 

’Squire Blanchard then put an end to all conver- 
sation by saying : 

I understand this is your prisoner whom you 


NORMAN'S TRIAL. 6 / 

charge with killing deer out of season, Goodman 
Gun wad ? ” 

He is, cap’en.” 

“ Are your witnesses all here ? 

All I shall need, I reckon.” 

** Are your witnesses here, prisoner } ” 
have none, sir.” 

‘‘Then, unless objection is raised by the prisoner 
or the complainant, the case will be opened without 
further delay. I think there is a little matter several 
are anxious to attend to,” alluding to the forthcoming 
shooting-match. 

“Th’ sooner th' better, cap’en,” said Gunwad, 
showing by his appearance that he was well pleased. 
“ I reckon it won’t take long to salt his gravy.” 

“ I understand you charge this young man, whose 
name I believe is McNiel — ” 

“ A son, cap’en, of thet hated McNiel — ” 

“ Silence, sir, while I am speaking ! ” commanded 
’Squire Blanchard. “ You charge this Norman Mc- 
Niel with shooting deer out of season ? 

“I do, sir.” 

“ You will take oath and then describe what rea- 
son you have for considering the prisoner guilty.” 

As soon as he had been properly sworn Gunwad 
went on to describe in his blunt, rough way how he 
had been attracted to Rock Rimmon by a gun-shot. 
Upon reaching the spot he had found a dead deer 


68 


THE WOODRANGER. 


there, while the prisoner and his dog were the only 
living creatures that he saw in the vicinity. The 
youth’s gun was empty, and he acknowledged his 
hound had started and followed the deer. 

I knowed the youngster o’ a furriner,” he con- 
cluded, as the boy livin’’ with thet ol’ refugee o’ a 
MacDonald at the Falls, so I lost no time in clappin’ 
my hands on him.” 

These allusions to Norman’s father and grand- 
father it could be seen were given to antagonise, as 
much as possible, the Scotch-Irish spectators. But 
’Squire Blanchard ended, or cut short, his speech by 
asking if he had witnesses to prove his statements. 

Woodranger here was with me, an’ I reckon his 
word is erbout as good as enny the youngster can 
fetch erlong. Woodranger, step this way, an’ tell th’ 
’squire whut ye know erbout this young poacher.” 

In answer to ’Squire Blanchard’s request, but not 
to Gunwad’s, the forester .took the witness-stand, and, 
after being duly sworn, answered the questions asked 
him without hesitation or wavering. 

‘‘You were with Gunwad yesterday, Woodranger, 
when he met the prisoner at Rock Rimmon ? ” 

“ I was, cap’en.” 

“And you saw the deer he had shot } ” 

“ I see the carcass o’ a dead deer laying at the foot 
o’ Rock Rimmon, cap’en.” 

“ It was the deer the prisoner is supposed to have 


JVORMAN^S TRIAL. 69 

shot?” asked ’Squire Blanchard, noticing the Wood- 
ranger’s cautious way of replying. 

“ It was the only deer I see.” 

‘‘You saw Gun wad take a bullet from its body?” 

“ I did. I see, too, that the lead had not found 
a vital spot.” 

“ Do you mean to say the deer was not killed by 
the shot ? ” 

“That’s what I mean.” 

Gunwad was seen to scowl at this acknowledg- 
ment, while the spectators listened for the next 
question and reply in breathless eagerness. 

“What was the cause of the creature’s death, 
then ? ” 

“ It was killed by its fall from Rock Rimmon. 
To be more correct, I should say its leap from the 
top of Rimmon, which you mus’ know is a smart 
jump.” 

“ But it was driven over the cliff by a hound at its 
heels ? ” 

“ It could have gone round if it had wished. I 
’low it was hard pressed, but it looked to me the 
critter took that way to get out o’ a bad race.” 

A murmur of surprise ran around the crowded 
room, while Gunwad was heard to mutter an oath 
between his teeth. 

“ You say that for the benefit of the prisoner ? ” 
demanded Blanchard, sharply. 


70 


THE WOODRANGER. 


I do not need to, cap’en. Besides, Fm under 
oath.” 

*‘Do you mean to say that a deer would jump off 
Rock Rimmon intent on its own destruction, Wood- 
ranger 1 Now, as a man who lives in the forest, 
knows its most hidden secrets and worships its soli- 
tudes, answer me if you can.” 

Even Gunwad was silent now, and the knot of 
talkers outside the door, realising that the conversa- 
tion between the justice and the witness had reached 
a point of more than ordinary interest, abruptly ended 
their discussion, to listen with the others. 

Cap’en Blanchard,” said the Woodranger, in his 
simple, straightforward way, “I ’low I’ve spent a 
goodish portion o’ my life in the woods, ranging ’em 
fur and wide it may be, sometime on the trail o’ a red 
man, sometime stalking the deer, the bear, or the 
painter. Being a man not advarse to Taming, though 
the little book wit 1 got inter my head onc’t has 
slipped out, I have picked up some o’ Natur’s secrets. 
I can foller the Indian’s trail where some might not 
read a sign. The trees tell me the way to go in the 
darkness o’ night ; and the leaf forewarns me the 
weather for the morrer. If I do say it, and I think 
I may be pardoned for the boasting, few white men* 
can show greater knack at trailing the Indian or 
stalking the four-footed critters o’ the woods. My 
eye is trained to its mark, my hand to its work, and 


NORMAN’S TRIAL. 


71 


or Danger here,” tapping the barrel of his long rifle, 
never has to bark the second time at the same 
critter. I hope you’ll pardon me for saying all this, 
seeing no man has enny right to boast o’ the knacks 
o’ Natur’. If I have been a better scholard in her 
school than in that o’ man, it is because her teach- 
ings have been more to my heart. Her ways are 
ways of peace and read like an open book, but the 
ways o’ man are ways o’ consait and past finding 
out. Though I live by my rifle, I do not believe in 
wanton killing, and I never drew bead on critter with 
a malicious thought. 

“ But pardon me for so kivering the trail o’ your 
question as not to find it. One is apt to study the 
manners o’ ’em into whose company he is constantly 
thrown. So I have studied the ways o’ the critters 
o’ the woods very keerfully, to find ’em with many 
human traits. They have their joys and their sor- 
rers, their loves and hates, their hopes and despairs, 
just like the human animal. In the wilds o’ the 
North I once saw a sick buck walk deliberately up 
to the top o’ a high bluff, and, after stopping a 
minute, while he seemed to be saying his prayers, 
jump to death on the rocks below. At another 
time, I sat and watched a leetle mole, old and sick, 
dig him a leetle hole in the earth, crawl in, and 
kiver himself over to die. I remember once I had 
a dog, and if I do say it, as knows best, he was the 


72 


THE WOODRANGER. 


keenest hound on the scent and the truest fri’nd a 
man ever had. But at last his limbs come to be 
cramped with rheumatiz, his eyesight was no longer 
to be trusted, and his poor body wasted away for the 
food he had no appetite to eat. In his distress he 
lay down in my pathway, and asked me, in that lan- 
guage the more pathetic for lacking words, to put an 
end to his misery by a shot from my gun. 

‘‘ I say, Cap’en Blanchard, Fve witnessed sich as 
these, and, mind ye, while I do. not pretend that deer 
leaped to its death o’ its own free will on Rock Rim- 
mon, in the light o’ sich doings as I’ve known it 
might have done it rather than to find heels for the 
hound any longer.” 

Though the Woodranger had spoken at this great 
length, and in his roundabout manner, not a sound 
fell on the scene to break the clear flow of his voice. 
It was evident his wild, rude philosophy had taken 
effect in the rugged breasts of those hardy pioneers. 
Even ’Squire Blanchard paused for a considerable 
space before asking his next question. 

“ Granting all that, Woodranger, it has but slight 
bearing on the fact of the prisoner’s guilt or inno- 
cence. I understand you to say it was his hound 
which had started the deer, and which was driving 
the creature that way — to its death, according to 
your own words.” 

“ If I ’lowed as much as that, cap’en, I said more’n 


NORMA N^S TRIAL. 


73 


the truth will bear me out in. I will answer you by 
asking you a question.” 

Go ahead in your way, Woodranger,” consented 
the other. “ I suppose I should accept from you 
what I w^ould from no other person.” 

Thank you, cap’en. This is the leetle p’int I’ve 
to unravel from my string o’ knots : If a nigger 
should come to your house and stop overnight, 
would that make him your slave for the rest o’ his 
life .? ” 

No.” 

‘‘I figgered it that way. Wal, that deerhound, 
and he was a good one, come to this lad o’ his own 
free will and ‘stayed with him whether or no. Yester- 
day the critter took it into his head to start a deer 
from Cedar Swamp, and he did so without the knowl- 
edge o’ the lad. The dog left, too, as soon as he 
see the mischief he’d done. Dogs may not under- 
stand man’s laws, but they sometimes know when 
they have broke ’em.” 

‘‘But there is no denying that the prisoner shot 
the animal ” demanded ’Squire Blanchard, as if de- 
termined not to be beaten at every point. 

“ Not if that chunk o’ lead will fit the bore o’ his 
gun,” holding out the bullet Gunwad had taken from 
the deer’s body. “ The lad has his gun with him, if 
I mistake not.” 

A ripple of excitement ran around the room at this 


74 


THE WOODRANGER. 


speech, and Gunwad, as if fearing the trial was going 
contrary to his wishes, broke in with the exclama- 
tion, directed to no one in particular, but heard 
by all : 

‘‘This is er purty piece o’ tomfoolery ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


END OF THE TRIAL. 

’Squire Blanchard rapped smartly on the table 
in front of him for order, before he said : 

“You may try the bullet in the prisoner’s gun, 
Woodranger.” 

Reaching forward and taking Norman’s firearm, 
he held it in his left hand, with inverted muzzle, 
while he laid the bullet on the top. There the round 
piece of lead rested, being too large to drop down the 
long, slender throat. For the first time a murmur 
of applause was heard. 

Gunwad stamped his foot, exclaiming : 

“ It isn’t the weepon he had yesterday ! ” 

In answer to ’Squire Blanchard’s questioning look, 
Woodranger said : 

“ I’m under oath.” 

The three short words, spoken so impressively by 
the man who would have sooner given his life than 
lie, were sufficient, — sufficient for all except the 
angry deer reeve. 

“That will do for the present, Woodranger,” 
declared the justice. 


75 


;6 


THE WOODRANGER. 


** Hol’ on ! ” exclaimed Gun wad. I want to ask 
him a question.” 

‘‘ You will have plenty of time as soon as I have 
examined the prisoner.” 

Compelled to remain quiet, the deer reeve then 
listened to Norman’s straightforward account of the 
little affair. Of course his version exactly agreed with 
what the Woodranger had given, and at its conclusion 
’Squire Blanchard was frank enough to say: 

There doesn’t seem to be sufficient evidence to 
hold the prisoner. The complainant fails to prove 
that it was his dog which started the deer, or that 
it was he who shot it, therefore, I command the 
release of Norman McNiel. But according to your 
own account of shooting at the hawk, young man, 
I should not advise you to have very high hopes at 
the shooting-match. This court stands adjourned. 
Now, boys, for the Three Pines ! ” 

A loud cheer greeted “ his Honour’s ” unique 
way of dissolving his court, while the infuriated 
Gun wad pushed his way forward, crying, in a loud 
voice : 

^*Ye betrayed me, Woodranger! I thought ye 
wuz my fri’nd and ye proved my Judas ! It wuz a 
miserable sneak game to cheat me out’n my reward, 
but I’ll hev the skunk wot fired thet shot, be he 
a white-livered furriner or a copper-skin.” 

The Woodranger managed to leave the room 


END OF THE TRIAD 


77 


without coming in contact with the irate speaker. 
Some of those present tried to check the deer reeve’s 
bitter utterances. The majority seemed well pleased 
with the way the trial had ended, though it had 
called forth several animated discussions among the 
spectators. Naturally the Scotch-Irish, to a man, 
complimented ’Squire Blanchard on his way of dis- 
posing of the case. This very state of satisfaction 
among those they so thoroughly disliked, however, 
awakened keen distrust among the Tyng colonists, 
who began to develop a strong opposition to the 
course the matter had taken. ’Squire Blanchard 
was the town’s clerk, and one of the most active 
of the grantees. But some declared that he had 
favoured their rivals, though he had been perfectly 
honest in his treatment of the case. Gunwad, natu- 
rally, was determined to get what advantage he could 
from this mixed situation. 

‘‘It’s nothin’ but downright insult to ’low this 
young furriner to come in hyur an’ shoot down our 
deer without regard to our laws. I ain’t ag’in 
sayin’ thet Cap’en Blanchard didn’t ’vestigate as 
he oughter.” 

“ Woodranger ain’t inclined to the belief that the 
boy did it,” ventured a bystander. “There ain’t 
many who doubt the word of him. He fit with 
Lovewell and is parfectly honest.” 

As if the last was the natural result of the first 


73 


THE WOODRANGER. 


act, and beyond dispute, the speaker retired in a 
satisfied manner. 

“He lied in this ! ” exclaimed Gunwad, but quickly 
qualifying his statement, for fear he had made it 
stronger than would be accepted. “At least he 
put it in sich light as to deceive the cap’en. A deer 
killin’ itself, — the idee ! He didn’t give me a fair 
chance.” 

“ Better let it drop here, Gunwad,” said a friend. 
“ No good will come of stirring the mess.” 

“ Ef ye had been trod on as I hev ye wouldn’t feel 
so easy erbout yit. I’d like to git er rope eround the 
hull Irish gang an’ be th’ one to shake ’em over 
Namaske ! Bet yer life I w’u’dn’t hoi’ on to thet 
rope only long ernough to see thet they were in 
a way to git wet to their livers.” 

“ Bet you wouldn’t hold on to that rope any longer 
than I could get my fist on you, you little runt of 
a Britisher ! ” exclaimed a voice at his elbow, n.nd 
turning about the deer reeve was startled to find the 
tall, muscular figure of young Hall confronting him. 

“ Better be careful how you talk such foolery 
here ! ” declared the latter. “ Unless you want 
more trouble than you can handle.” 

The cowardly Gunwad offered no reply, breathing 
easier when the other had gone beyond hearing. 

The shooting-match was an event important 
enough to arrest the attention of the spectators, and 


END OF THE TRIAL, 


79 


turn their thoughts into another channel than shoot- 
ing deer out of season. The majority at once started 
toward the shooting grounds. 

Still Gun wad remained just outside the house dis- 
coursing to a little group of listeners, who were in 
sympathy with him, on the grievous wrong he be- 
lieved had been done him, and to embitter the others 
as much as possible against their rivals. 

I s’pose ye know who this young upstart is,” he 
half questioned, and, as if to answer it himself, con- 
tinued : 

‘‘ I know as well as ef it was writ in a book. One 
o' 'em Irishers tole me, so I got it straight. They 
hate him like pizen, but don't like to let on. Ye all 
know th’ Irishers air all refugees, an' thet they fust 
fled from Scotland for treason to th’ king, who got 
arter ’em like a mad bull. They went to Ireland, 
which they soon had to quit fer more treason. Ye 
see it’s in him, bone and blood. Finally they con- 
cluded to come to this kentry in a body, an’ mus’ 
needs git out in th’ dark. Some o’ their inimies got 
hoi’ o’ their scheme, but didn’t let on. So when th’ 
lot got ready to start they found their way stopped 
by armed men. They managed to git away, when 
some on ’em looked round for th’ traitor, an’ it 
weren’t long afore th’ Judas was found. He was 
Arch McNiel, this boy’s father. He got away, but 
he killed two o’ ’em afore he got clear. His escape 


So 


THE WOODRANGER. 


didn’t do him much good, fer he was shot dead on 
th’ king’s highway two days later. His wife, ol’ man 
MacDonald’s darter, took it so to heart she died right 
off. Thet left th’ ol’ Scotchman with th’ boy on his 
hands, only he was a baby then. Now if there is enny 
ones I despise it’s Judases, and it’s sich fellers as th’ 
McNiels as kem hyur to rob us o’ our — ” 

No sooner had his release become known than 
one after another of the onlookers crowded around 
Norman to congratulate him, among the rest being 
Robert Rogers, who wrung his hand heartily. 

“The ’squire was perfectly fair,” he said. “Of 
course Gunwad had no proof against you. He is an 
evil man, anyway. If you had been sent to gaol there 
would have been some lively times in Old Harry town, 
and some of the Londonderry boys might have had 
a finger in the stew.” 

“ Such language is ill-timed,” said the Woodranger. 
“ I find it is well never to resort to wanton talk, as 
talking but leads to fighting. There is enough of 
that to do with the red men. The whites have 
enough to answer for in bounty on scalps of the 
misguided savages, without killing each other. 
Harrytown is not worth the spilling o’ a drop o’ 
innocent blood.” 

“I wish to thank you for your kindness to me, 
Woodranger,” said Norman, improving his first 
opportunity to express his appreciation of the 


END OF THE TRIAL. 8 1 

forester’s proof of friendship. I am sure if it 
hadn’t been for you I should have had to go to 
Chelmsford.” 

“ I was under oath, lad, and told of the affair just 
as it was. I’m very thankful I’m not given to de- 
ceiving. True, men resort to such manner o’ doings 
when tracking the red man, but that is only the natu- 
ral artifices o’ warfare. In peace it is — ” 

Look there, Woodranger ! ” interrupted young 
Rogers, pulling the speaker’s sleeve ; “ you upbraided 
me for talking trouble. Will you listen to the argu- 
ments of Gun wad } ” 

At first the Woodranger was inclined to merely 
glance toward the man, whom it was evident he 
despised. But, as his gaze ran over the deer reeve 
and his knot of listeners, his countenance quickly 
changed its hue, and he became an intent hearer of 
the other’s garbled account of Norman’s father. He 
trembled from head to foot, and as Gunwad reached 
that point where he used the words ‘‘to rob us o’ 
our” — the forester, with that swift, silent step so 
natural to him, glided to the deer reeve’s side. Be- 
fore the story-teller realised his presence, he seized 
him with one hand by the throat. As the powerful 
fingers tightened, their victim was lifted clear from 
his feet, and held at arm’s length by the iron-like 
grasp of Woodranger. 

The deer reeve could not utter a word, and he 


82 


THE WOODRANGER. 


seemed in imminent danger of being choked to death, 
but he struggled violently to break from the hand 
which had so unexpectedly caught and held him like 
a huge bat twisting and squirming in mid-air. 

‘‘Utter another word o’ sedition and I’ll warp your 
head from your shoulders ! ” exclaimed the forester, 
sharply. “ Let this be a warning to sich petty 
whippers and growlers as you,” flinging the other to 
the ground, and striding away from the place as if 
escaping from some obnoxious creature. 

This violent display of anger on the part of the 
Woodranger, who had never shown anything of the 
kind before, so startled the onlookers that not a word 
was spoken until he had gone beyond hearing. As 
soon as the dazed Gunwad had begun to recover his 
senses, he shook his fist after the retreating forester, 
muttering maledictions he was careful the other 
should not hear. Fortunately the few left about 
the place did not care to engage in any row, so the 
affair was speedily forgotten, except by Gunwad, 
in the interesting and exciting scenes which fol- 
lowed. 

As he strode away in righteous wrath, Woodranger 
caught Norman by the hand, saying : 

“ Come with me to the shoot, lad. I fear me much 
I’ve committed a foolish indiscretion in letting my 
temper run away with my jedgment. A man never 
knows his strength till he has tried his weakness. 


END OF THE TRIAL, 


S3 


Oh, the shoot will not detain you more than a couple 
o’ hours. You will get home as soon as your grand- 
father will expect you. You have that shot at the 
hawk to redeem, and this is your time.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE SHOOTING - MATCH. 

A SHOOTING-MATCH ill the days of the pioneers was 
always sure to attract a large crowd of spectators and 
a goodly number of marksmen. Such was the case 
in Tyng Township. It is true there had been a 
spirited trial of the kind at the last Thanksgiving, 
among the Tyngsmen, but over eight months had 
elapsed since then, and as keen an interest was felt 
on this occasion as before. In fact, there was greater 
excitement and anxiety, as certain elements had en- 
tered into this contest which had been unknown in 
the other. Previously there had been merely a 
friendly rivalry among kindred spirits. Now scores 
were to be settled between antagonistic parties. 

The match had been the outcome of a boyish dis- 
pute and quarrel. Willie Tyng, a grandson of the 
celebrated Captain Tyng of the “ snow-shoe expedi- 
tion,’' and Archie Gamble, son of one of the foremost 
Scotch-Irish settlers, had together shot at an eagle. 
One shot missed the bird, while the other brought 
the victim to the ground. Then each claimed the 
84 


THE SHOO TING - MA TCH 8 5 

honour of the successful shot, each being really at a 
loss to prove his assertion. From angry words they 
came to challenge each other to a test with the gun, 
in order to show who was the better marksman. 
Then, the friends of the two taking up the dispute, 
plans were made for a general match, which all could 
enter who wished. 

As the most convenient grounds for the affair, the 
plateau on the summit of the elevation known as 
Chestnut Corners, or the Three Pines, was selected. 
This had really been chosen as the site for a pro- 
posed meeting-house, so a clearing large enough for 
the occasion had been made. 

Fortunately, the day did not promise the excessive 
heat of the closing of July, and the fog which had 
hung over the river during the morning had lifted, so 
the weather was all that could be asked. 

I suppose you will win the prize in the first class,” 
said Norman to the Woodranger, as he walked along 
on the right hand side of the forester, while Rob 
Rogers kept step on the other side. 

‘‘Doubtful, my lad, doubtful. Such sport does 
well enough for boys, but it seems to me a wanton 
waste o' powder to an ol’ man, who has but enough 
for the game he must o’ necessity bring down. 
Then, too, having been perambulating the woods so 
much of late, I had nary inkling o’ such doings. 
However, I ’vise you to try a bead, just to show ’em 


86 


THE WOODRANGER. 


that with proper practice you can ketch the bird’s 
eye, e’en if it be a hawk.” 

‘‘ You must enter on our side, Woodranger,” said 
Rob. “We’re going to beat ’em to-day if it takes a 
tooth.” 

“Ordinarily that is right, Robby, but it is good 
reason why I should not mix in the ’fair. ’Twould 
only stir bad blood and aggravate the ol’ wound. No, 
no, lads. I’m neutral in this quarrel. It’s my humble 
opinion this match had better been settled ’mong the 
lads, where it begun. A shooting-match is a danger- 
ous ’fair where there is hot blood ready to be spilt. 
It looks so there was going to be a goodish 
crowd.” 

They were then approaching the grounds, which 
were already thronged with loud-talking men and 
boys, who had come early so as not to miss any 
of the “fun.’' 

Already the committee, consisting of three men 
from each party, had perfected the preliminary 
arrangements. The contesting marksmen had been 
divided into two classes. The boys, or younger 
members of the rival factions, were to pit themselves 
against each other first, after which the men were to 
try their more experienced hands. This decision 
meeting with the approval of all, the names of the 
youthful claimants for the honour were listed, until 
six on each side had been included. 


THE SHOOTING -MATCH. 


37 


Among those on the Tyng Township part were 
Johnny Goffe, Willie Tyng, John Spaulding, and 
Burton Woods, with two others. The Scotch-Irish 
were represented by Norman McNiel, Robert Rogers, 
Archie Gamble, and three more, whose names need 
not be given. 

Our hero had been somewhat loath to participate 
in the trial, though he felt certain he need not feel 
ashamed of his skill with his rifle. Woodranger had 
advised him to enter the list, so he had done so. 
Some objection was raised at first to Robert Rogers, 
as he lived out of town. But when he cheerfully 
offered to withdraw, it was almost demanded by all 
that he remain. 

This selection of the marksmen took nearly half 
an hour’s time. Then a hundred yards, the distance 
agreed upon, was measured off, and the target put 
up against the trunk of a big pine. The object at 
which they were to shoot was a stave about six 
inches wide and a couple of feet long, which had 
been rived from a pine expressly for this occasion. 
Near its centre had been marked a spot the size of 
a bullet, which was called the bull’s-eye. Around 
this a line had been traced, making a circle just an 
inch in diameter. Outside of this mark were two 
more circles, each an added inch in size, so the 
largest was three inches across. Whichever side 
should succeed in placing the greater number of 


88 


THE WOODRANGER. 


bullets inside the inch ring would be declared the 
victor. Should all fail to come so near to the bull’s- 
eye, the party which should put the most inside the 
second or middle circle would be the winner. Fail- 
ing in this the third circle would count, but no bul- 
let hitting the stave outside that should, under any 
circumstances, be counted at all. 

By this time seventy-five persons had gathered 
on the clearing, an anxious, curious, excitable 
crowd, anticipating the result with conjectures in 
regard to the relative skill of the different contest- 
ants. It was pretty generally agreed that the parties 
were very evenly matched, though the ability of 
Norman was less known than that of his compan- 
ions. 

Now, stand back, so the boys can have a chance 
at a clear field,” said Captain Goffe, who had been 
unanimously chosen master of ceremonies. A skur- 
rying to get out of the way followed. Woodranger, 
who had scarcely spoken since the beginning, took a 
position where he could command a view of the 
whole situation. Assuming his favourite position, 
with arms akimbo across the muzzle of his rifle, he 
watched and waited in silence. 

It had been decided that the firing should be 
done alternately by the two parties. It fell to the 
Tyng boys to lead, and young Goffe stepped into 
the small arena designated as the marksman’s stand. 


THE SHOOTING -MATCH. 


89 


Taking careful aim, he sent the first ball inside the 
smallest ring, amid the cheers of those who were in 
sympathy with him. 

<< Beat that with yer Gambles and McNiels if you 
can ! ” called out a lusty voice. ‘‘ Three cheers for 
Johnny Goffe ! 

Three hearty huzzas were given for the boy marks- 
man, while the name of the first on the list of the 
Scotch-Irish was called. He was a tall, strapping 
youth by the name of MacKnight, afterward noted as a 
sturdy patriot in the French and Indian wars and in 
that of American Independence. Perhaps he was 
overconfident of his skill, for, with a hasty aim, he 
sent his bullet barely in the second ring. Groans on 
the part of the English succeeded, but not a cheer 
from their rivals. The disappointed lad retired crest- 
fallen from the scene. 

Again the Tyng portion of the crowd was on the 
alert, as the second of their favourites took his posi- 
tion. Put on his guard perhaps by the failure of 
MacKnight, he raised his gun slowly and carefully 
until it was on a line with the mark. His hand 
trembled, showing the suppressed excitement under 
which he was labouring. Hesitating a moment, he 
lowered the weapon, while the Scotch-Irish took 
advantage of the action to break forth into loud jeers. 

The lack of confidence the boy marksman evinced 
was manifested by the result of his shot. His bullet 


90 


THE WOODRANGER. 


fell outside of the second line, and the opposing 
party gave shouts of derision. 

Archie Gamble’s turn came next. He took a 
careful aim, occupying what seemed to the by- 
standers a long time, but fired at his first poise. 

“ First ring ! ” cried the foremost of those who 
rushed forward to examine the stave. A deafen- 
ing cheer went up from the Scotch-Irish. But this 
applause proved premature, for, upon closer exam- 
ination, it was found that the lead, while it had cut 
the line, lay with its larger part outside of the mark. 
The Tyng boys were still ahead. 

Willie Tyng then took the stand, sending a bullet 
with sugh accuracy that it lodged inside the small- 
est ring. The applause from his admirers was 
louder and more prolonged than any before. 

This so disconcerted the next marksman that he 
missed the stave altogether ! At least that was the 
excuse his friends made. Be that as it might, the 
result was the same. 

One-half of the rivals had now tried their hands 
and the Tyng boys were well ahead. As soon as 
he could make himself heard for the wild cries ut- 
tered, the person, who had interjected his boastful 
words before, again shouted : 

“ Git home, ye sons o’ Scotch-Irish Macs, and 
take yer blunderbusses with yer. They may do to 
hang yer pots an’ kittles on, but they never — ” 


THE SHOOTING -MATCH 


91 


Captain Goffe tried to check this foolish speech at 
the outset, but the speaker would not stop, though 
the cheers of his companions drowned his concluding 
words. 

The sun of the Tyng boys seemed to be in the 
ascendant surely, for their fourth representative 
placed his bullet inside the magical circle. Their 
score now stood at three. Every Scotch-Irish boy 
left on the list had got to score the centre circle in 
order to make a record even with their rivals. Even 
the most candid of their opponents could not blame 
the English crowd for the loud huzzas which followed 
their last triumph. 

“Norman McNiel ! ” called off Captain Goffe, as 
soon as he could make himself heard above the con- 
fusion of voices. Then the young refugee stepped 
quickly into the ring, and silence again fell on the 
scene. No one present really knew his ability as 
a marksman, and it is safe to say he was watched 
with keener interest and deeper anxiety than' any 
one before him. Should he fail, the Scotch-Irish 
might as well bid adieu to their hopes. More curi- 
ous than anxious, the rival party looked on in si- 
lence, somewhat indifferent as to the result. 

This being his first appearance before a crowd, 
and realising how much was depending upon himself 
and his two companions, Norman felt a nervousness 
which was ominous of his failure. It was with diffi- 


92 


THE WOODRANGER. 


culty he quieted his nerves enough to hold his gun 
steadily. He had been taught that the first sight 
was best, and the report of his weapon rang out 
before the spectators were prepared for the shot. 

But, as usual, some one was beside the stave in 
the twinkling of an eye. No one was expecting the 
announcement he yelled forth in wild excitement, 
unless it was the Woodranger, who had smiled as he 
had seen Norman pull the trigger : 

‘‘ The bull’s-eye ! He’s cut out the dot ! ” 

At first the spectators could not realise the truth 
of these words, but as soon as it was found to be so 
such shouts went from the Scotch-Irish as awoke the 
surrounding woods and put to shame the applause of 
their rivals. 

“ It is the handsomest shot I’ve seen for many a 
day,” frankly declared Captain Goffe, who made no 
attempt to still the shouts, though his sympathies 
were really with the other side. 

It was a proud moment for Norman, though he 
retired modestly to the background. Woodranger, 
speaking for the first time since the opening of the 
match, was heard to say : 

The lad has it in him. It is a natural knack few 
can boast of. Aweel, it will be so much to the red 
man’s cost, or I cannot read the futur’.” 

The fifth Tyng representative failed to get nearer 
the bull’s-eye than the outer edge of the second ring. 


THE SHOOTING -MATCH. 


93 


His competitor sent his bullet so as to cut the inside 
circle, very similar to the shot of Archie Gamble. 
His effort was considered better than the others, 
however, as he made a perfect line shot. 

The sixth and last contestant for the honour of 
Tyng Township proved himself worthy of the con- 
fidence placed in him. His bullet struck by the 
side of Johnny Goffe’s. The Tyng boys had now 
assured their triumph beyond dispute, no matter 
what the result of the concluding trial. So they 
were jubilant, while the Scotch-Irish were corre- 
spondingly low-spirited. 

The latter party had, wisely or not, kept their 
most hopeful champion for the last. For his years, 
Robert Rogers had been considered the best shot 
in Silver River country. Thus some persisted in 
cheering, as he took the stand. A portion of the 
opposition improved the opportunity to deride the 
boy marksman. 

‘'Give ’em all th’ chance that belongs to ’em,” 
cried a burly onlooker. “We’re safe. See Rob’s 
hand tremble. It’s ten to one he couldn’t hit th’ 
broadside o’ a deer. Say, Rob, did ye ever hev 
th’ buck fever ? ” 

“ Close your mouth or I’ll take your head for a 
target. Bill Exeter, and I’ll hit the bull’s-eye, too,” 
cried young Rogers, sharply, as he prepared to take 
aim. He was nettled and disappointed by the 


94 


THE WOODRANGER. 


blundering shots of all his associates, except Nor- 
man. “ ’Taint no fair show, anyway,” he continued, 
“when a bull’s-eye don’t count more’n a ringer. I 
told ’em so and — ” 

Spang ! rang out the sharp report of his weapon, 
in the midst of his own speech. The smoke had 
not cleared away before the cry came tauntingly 
above the medley of sounds : 

“ Rob ain’t hit the stave ! ” 

“ Prove it or I’ll make you eat them words ! ” he 
exclaimed, fiercely, starting toward the target. 

“ It’s so, and I can prove it by Captain Goffe. 
There ain’t no new hole made in the stave since Ben 
Butterfield fired. Where’s your boasts now, Rob 
Rogers ? ” 

“ As sound as a nut. No new hole in the stave, 
eh .? Does that prove that I ain’t hit the bull’s-eye ? 
Look where Norman McNiel put his lead, and if I 
ain’t got a chunk of lead there on top of his I’ll 
never draw bead again on buck nor redskin.” 

The youthful scout showed that he was terribly 
in earnest, and a deep silence fell on the scene, 
while Captain Goffe, removing the target, began an 
examination for the bullet in the pine. In a minute 
he had extricated a piece of lead, somewhat flattened, 
but with the shape of the bullet still remaining. As 
he held this up to the gaze of the spectators, he 
said : 


THE SHOO TING -MATCH. 


95 


“ McNiel’s bullet is still left in the tree, directly 
beneath where this was embedded. Rob was right ; 
he put his bullet through the bull’s-eye in the exact 
track — ” 

He was not allowed to finish. The Scotch-Irish 
spectators began to yell themselves hoarse. The 
score of their team, though lower than the other 
side, showed two of the best shots which had been 
made. If they had been defeated, it was a proud 
defeat. 

Rob Rogers crossed over to where Norman and 
Woodranger were conversing, and grasping our 
hero’s hand, exclaimed : 

Mac, I like your style, and I want you for a 
friend. When you go on the trail of the red enemy 
I want you to let me go with you. Woodranger, I 
wish to thank you for training me in the way you 
have.” 

‘‘ Tut, tut, lad ! the knack o’ drawing a true bead 
is God’s gift, not man’s. He who gave life sees fit 
to give the power to take it. It is the manner in 
which that gift is used that counts in the great 
string o’ knots at the last. You both made good 
shots, lads, and you’ll make a powerful team — a 
powerful team, lads.” 

I shall be glad to go with you, Rob,” said Nor- 
man, as he clasped the other’s hand. 

Little did either of them dream of the stern reality 


96 


THE WOODRANGER. 


which was to cement the boyish pledge so impulsively 
made. Little did any of those young marksmen 
dream of the more trying test of their skill which 
was so soon to come. Those who now hung their 
heads with shame were destined to lift them with a 
proud consciousness of duty well done in the savage 
warfare so soon to carry terror to their New Eng- 
land homes. 


CHAPTER X. 


AN ALARM. 

The English were exultant over the victory won 
by their champions, while the Scotch-Irish claimed, 
as they well coul^, that the best shots had been 
made by two of their competitors. If decided upon 
the real merits of the match, they believed the 
championship belonged to them. Still, that was not 
exactly according to the rules of the trial, which, 
it could now be seen, had not been made so as to 
obtain the fairness intended. The truth was, no one 
had anticipated such marksmanship among the young 
rivals. 

With the contest of the youthful members over, 
talk concerning the trial among the men speedily 
put the other in the background, except to a few. 
If excitement had run high before, it was evident it 
would reach boiling pitch this time, and the more 
timid began to tremble for the result. 

As in the other match, representatives were to be 
chosen for each side, the difference being that only 
three were to participate from each party this time. 

97 


98 


THE WOODRANGER. 


But in order to satisfy others who were desirous of 
showing their skill, a third trial was to be had, in 
which all were to be allowed to take part in a sort 
of off-hand shooting. 

Knowing his unerring skill with his rifle, it was 
natural the Woodranger should be urged by both 
sides to champion their cause. But the forester was 
wise enough to see that it would be better for him, 
if not for the rest, to keep in the background. 

‘‘Such doings may be well and fitting for lads, 
but it seems to me a grievous waste o’ powder for 
ol’ men to be shooting at a stave. No good can 
come o’ it. It’s the unwritten law o’ natur’ that 
men should war on the wild creatur’s o’ the forest, 
and if they must, it is enough to burn their powder 
for the helpless and innocent that cannot speak for 
themselves. The lads have made a good showing, if 
I do say it. When the war-whoop o’ the red man 
is heard again in our midst, as it is sartin to be at no 
distant day, it shows we shall have bonnie boys to 
take our places. No ; these doings ain’t to my con- 
sarn. I may have a knack at drawing bead on the 
buck or the b’ar, or the red man if he crosses my 
path, but I do not believe in wanton waste o’ powder. 
Besides, I’m no man’s inimy. The wild, boundless 
forest is my free domain, and the good Lord gave it 
to me as neutral ground.” 

These words, spoken in his deliberate, impressive 


AN ALARM. 


99 


way, emphasised with a shake of the head, convinced 
the others that it was useless to urge the forester 
further to enter the match. But if he would not 
become a principal in the proceedings, would he 
not act as manager ? Finally, with great reluctance, 
seeing what no one else foresaw, that an open rup- 
ture was imminent before the affair was well over, 
he consented to accept the responsible part. He 
did this more in the hope of averting a crisis than 
for any other reason. 

The distance for the men was to be the same as 
for the boys, but with the former only bull’s-eye 
shots were to count, except in case no one should 
hit the centre, when the nearest shot would be con- 
sidered. After one round at the target, a trial at a 
living mark by the successful ones was to end the 
matter. 

It soon proved that the men were more unreason- 
able than the boys had been, and more competitors 
wished to enter than were called for. It required all 
of the tact at the command of the Woodranger to 
select those who should enter the competition. In 
the midst of his perplexing duties, Zack Bitlock, still 
barefooted and dishevelled in appearance, pushed 
his way forward to the forester’s side, saying, in his 
peculiar tone : 

Ef yit’s all th’ same to ye. Ranger, I want the 
taking o’ yer rifle a leetle bit. I thought mebbe I 


lOO 


THE WOODRANGER. 


sh’uld wanter be in th’ shoot at live things, an’ 
yit mought be prudent fer me to try th’ iron a bit 
aforehand, seein’ yit’s new to my hand, an’ Frinch, 
too.” , 

Woodranger paused in his work, to gaze on the 
speaker fully a minute before he replied : 

“ Sich a request passes my comprehension, seeing 
a man’s rifle is the last thing he should surrender. 
I remember when I was with that brave, but mis- 
guided man, Cap’n Love well, that a red man asked 
that same question o’ me. It may be he lacked your 
politeness about it, for the ways o’ a red man ain’t 
the ways o’ a white man, and something must be 
’lowed for the difference. Well, as I was saying, 
when I interrupted myself, the red man asked, in his 
way, for my rifle. I ’lowed Old Danger to answer 
for himself. I reckon the red was satisfied with the 
reply, for he never repeated his request. No, Bit- 
lock ; I will give the last crumb o’ dried bread or 
the last shred o’ venison in my wallet to a suffering 
fellow man ; but my rifle, never ! I would not do 
that for my brother, had I been blessed with sich. 
A man’s rifle is a part o’ himself.” 

“ Put the Puritan fool off the ground ! ” cried a 
brawny Presbyterian, starting forward, as if to carry 
out his threat. This aggressive action instantly 
called forth decisive opposition, and the rash speaker 
was seized and rudely flung to the earth. The spark 


AAT ALARM. 


lOI 


which alone had been needed to set fire to the 
combustible natures of the rival factions had been 
unwittingly applied. Words and blows lie near to- 
gether. 

Seeing the inevitable result, the Woodranger was 
about to appeal to the hot-headed leaders, when a 
most unexpected turn was given to the situation. It 
was so sudden and startling as to carry a new terror 
to every heart. 

A newcomer appeared upon the scene, — a young 
boy, bare-headed, bare-footed, and so nearly ex- 
hausted from long running that he could scarcely 
get his breath. Facing the wondering crowd a 
moment, he finally managed to utter the single word : 

“ Fire ! ” ' 

There are few words in the language of man 
which carry greater terror with them than that mono- 
syllable, and the personal differences of the specta- 
tors were quickly forgotten, as every one waited for 
the explanation expected. 

Seeing the boy was going to fall. Captain Goffe 
sprang forward to catch him in his arms. After a 
brief rest the young messenger aroused enough to 
say : 

‘‘There is a fire in the pines above Lund’s. It’s 
going like the wind toward Benson’s house. It’s lick- 
ing up everything before it. They sent me to tell 
you here, and I ran as fast as I could.” 


102 


THE WOODRANGER. 


A forest fire at that season was always a source of 
danger, and this one, beyond the control of those 
who had set it, meant more than the usual peril. 
Several homes were menaced, to say nothing of the 
threatened loss in other ways. It was perhaps for- 
tunate that a part of those homes in danger belonged 
to Scotch-Irish people, who had settled in the vicin- 
ity of Cohas, for that would surely enlist them in 
fighting the flames. Of course the shooting-match 
was instantly abandoned. All feelings of animosity 
quickly put aside, the two factions, as one, ran down 
the road toward the scene of the conflagration. 

Now that their attention had been turned in that 
direction, huge columns of black smoke could be seen 
rising above the tree-tops, and some declared they 
could hear the crackling and rumbling of the flames. 
In a little more than a minute after the news had 
reached them every person had left the grounds about 
the target pine, so swiftly did one and all awaken to 
their duty. 

Norman had been talking with Robert Rogers and 
Johnny Goffe when the announcement came, and 
they were among the foremost in the rush for the 
scene of the fire. 


CHAPTER XL 


A FIERY GIRDLE. 

In less than twenty minutes the leaders of the 
approaching party were within plain sight of the con- 
flagration, and paused for a hurried survey of the 
wild scene. The fire had gained great headway, and 
every moment was of priceless value. Starting in a 
piece of brushwood to the south of the small stream, 
it had spread to the right and left, crossing the 
Cohas in half a dozen places, and now was menacing 
the homes of several colonists in the vicinity. 

The foremost of the comers, as cool and collected 
as at the outset, was the Woodranger, and it was he 
who first comprehended the situation and formed a 
plan of action. 

Half a dozen o’ you come with me to the defence 
o’ the houses,” he said, in a tone heard plainly above 
the roar of the fire. The rest divide into two par- 
ties, and going ahead of the columns o’ fire, on the 
east and west, dig trenches, so as to stop the flames 
both ways. A few men along the road ought to keep 
the fire from crossing it.” 

103 


104 WOODRANGER. 

Captain Goffe quickly led a gang to do the fight- 
ing of the fire on the east, while Alexander Mc- 
Murphy, with as many more men, went to the south 
on the Londonderry line. Others remained to guard 
the road, while the Woodranger and ten others rushed 
to save the threatened houses. 

Norman, Rob Rogers, and Johnny Goffe joined this 
last party. 

It was soon found that the owners of the dwellings 
had already left them, taking with them to a safe 
distance all they could of their household effects. 
With such rude tools as the colonists had to work 
with, home-made hoes and shovels, the rescuers began 
to dig trenches around the menaced homes, and to 
clear away whatever combustible matter lay in the 
way. 

They had barely begun, however, when the wind 
shifted, so as to drive the fire directly down upon 
them. A portion of the men retreated back into the 
woods, unable to stand the heat. 

Seeing that the Woodranger showed no signs of 
giving up, Norman held to his post, digging with 
renewed vigour, though the smoke encircled him 
and the heat fairly took ■ away his breath. It was 
terrible working there, but so long as any of his 
companions stood the test, he was determined not 
to give up. He knew Robert and Johnny were 
keeping stubbornly at their digging. 


A FIERY GIRDLE. 


105 


The fire licked up the underbrush like chaff, 
hissing, crackling, roaring with demoniac glee, as it 
spread through the dwarf pitch-pines, or leaped up 
the tall monarchs of the forest faster than the most 
nimble wildcat or the swiftest bird, until the doomed 
giant would be enveloped in a fiery shroud, the 
crimson folds of which twisted and fluttered in fan- 
tastic shapes, or leaped high into the air, making a 
grand, but terrible, spectacle. 

The air was filled with bewildered birds driven 
from their retreats in the woods, while snakes and 
other creeping things glided hither and thither in a 
wild race away from the pursuing flames. The cries 
and hisses of the terrified creatures added to the 
horror of the conflagration. 

In the midst of the exciting work the Woodranger 
called to his companions to seize the pine brushes 
they had provided themselves with in case of an 
emergency, and go with him to help fight back the 
fire which was crossing the danger line below 
them. 

The three boys quickly obeyed the forester, and 
some of those who had previously sought flight now 
returned to battle manfully beside them. In this 
way the flames were baffled in their attempt to reach 
the houses. As if maddened by this repulse, the 
conflagration suddenly swerved to the right. 

“The wind didn’t change any too soon,” declared 


THE WOODRANGER. 


io6 

the Woodranger, as he stopped to wipe his perspiring 
brow. <‘Rest a bit, lads; you did nobly. Unless 
I’m mistaken, and no man has the knack o’ telling 
what a fire may do next, there is leetle to fear here 
now. If the wind does take a notion to send it back, 
it cannot make the showing it did before. It is 
swinging around toward Perham’s. Lads, you had 
better run out to that opening and make a stand. 
The rest o’ you may come with me. If we can hold 
it in check fifteen minutes longer, I opine the worst 
will be over.” 

The opening in question was a clearing of about 
three acres in extent, which had been sown with 
barley, and the grain was then ripe for the scythe. 
Norman led the way to the upper side of this field, 
where the three found themselves with their hands 
full. A manful fight enabled them to keep back the 
encroaching flames, until a shrill scream rang in their 
ears, and caused them to pause in their wild work 
long enough to glance around for the object of the 
alarm. 

The flames beat down upon them so at that 
moment that they were obliged to retreat toward the 
centre of the opening. As soon as the smoke had 
cleared from their eyes sufficiently for them to look 
about, they found themselves beside a big rock-pile, 
which Mr. Perham had heaped up in clearing his 
land. 


A FIERY GIRDLE, \QJ 

Upon the top of the stone heap they were startled 
to find a girl, about a dozen years old, crouching 
on the rocks, too terrified to move or speak, except 
to utter her heartrending screams. She had started 
to cross the clearing, and suddenly found herself 
surrounded by the conflagration ; for, unnoticed by 
the boys in their excitement, the fire had swept 
around to the lower side of the clearing, so they 
were all encircled by a fiery girdle. Licking up the 
ripe barley, like shavings strewn in its pathway, the 
flames were rushing toward them with the speed of 
a race-horse. 

“We are lost ! cried Johnny Goffe. “We shall 
be burned to death ! ” 

Knowing that they could not long remain there, 
though it would be equally futile to try to break 
through the fiery circle, Norman sprang up the rock- 
pile, and caught the trembling girl in his arms. If 
he could escape himself he was determined to save 
her. How it was to be done he had no idea. 

As he descended with his burden, wild shrieks of 
despair came from outside the circle of flames. It 
was the child’s mother calling for her lost little one ! 
It was a moment none of them would ever forget. 
Under the dark pall of the lowering smoke, Rob and 
Johnny gazed on each other in silent terror. But 
a most unexpected way of deliverance was opened 
to them. 


io8 


THE WOODRANGER. 


In reaching little Alice Perham, Norman dislodged 
a round stone from the pile, which went bounding 
down to the edge of the fire. Then into the fiery 
girdle it went, making for itself a narrow pathway, 
as it crushed down the grain and extinguished the 
blaze where it tore up the loose earth. 

Norman saw the effect, and, seating Alice safely 
one side, with a glad shout he began to roll other 
stones that way, calling on his companions to do the 
same. 

‘‘ Keep them in one track as much as you can, and 
we will soon have a path for us to follow.’* 

The second stone rolling through the gap of the 
first, crushing more of the barley into the light earth, 
made the rent wider. Robert and Johnny quickly 
followed Norman’s example, and for a brief while a 
perfect shower of rocks went bounding down the 
hillside, until a considerable opening had been torn 
in the blazing band. But the flames were getting 
so near on other quarters that it was impossible 
for the boys to remain there longer. 

“ Now’s our time ! ” cried Norman, catching Alice 
again in his arms. “ Follow me ! ” 

Running at the top of their speed, they soon burst 
through the burning barrier into the group of excited 
women and children which had huddled together just 
out of reach of the conflagration. 

Their clothes torn and burned in places and their 


A FIERY GIRDLE. 109 

hair pretty badly singed and skin blistered, the boys 
presented a sorry appearance. As Norman had 
protected her somewhat by his jacket, Alice had 
escaped with the least injury. But no one had 
received any serious harm, and, like the rugged 
boys they were, they thought little of their slight 
burns. 

Mrs. Perham, who, a minute before, had been 
wringing her hands and shedding scalding tears of 
grief, was now crying with joy, as she held Alice in 
her arms. 

The women and children had nearly all gathered 
in this vicinity, and as the wind continued to carry 
the fire away from that quarter there was little 
trouble in stopping its advance. In other places, 
too, the men were getting control of the conflagration, 
so fifteen minutes later the fighting was practically 
over, unless the fire should break out in some new 
section. 

Though of brief duration, it had been hot work 
while it had lasted, so one and all were glad to 
drop upon the ground wherever they might be, 
or seek some more comfortable resting-place, un- 
til they should regain something of their wasted 
vigour. 

The shooting-match was quite forgotten for the 
time being, and even the rancorous feeling, resulting 
from it, unheeded as the rival colonists talked of the 


no 


THE WOODRANGER. 


great danger which had been barely averted by their 
timely and almost superhuman efforts. 

“It was well we came to the fire in a body,” 
declared the Woodranger, who had suffered less 
from his exertions than any one else, though no 
man had equalled him in effective work. “ So many 
coming at once fresh for the fight could do more 
than four times the number coming singly or in 
pairs. I ’low continual dropping will wear away a 
stone, but fire isn’t to be worn out in that way. It 
is a matter of thanksgiving that no lives were lost,” 
and every one agreed with him. 

Norman was generously praised for his rescue of 
Alice Perham, and he was urged to remain until he 
had entirely recovered from his exertions. But he 
knew his grandfather and Rilma would be anxiously 
awaiting him, so he started homeward at once. As 
it was not considered safe to leave the fire without 
watchers, to see it did not catch in some new place, 
the Woodranger volunteered his services. 

Having escaped so easily the charges brought 
against him by Gunwad, Norman felt in good spirits, 
notwithstanding his recent experience. He often 
found himself thinking of his new-found friend, the 
Woodranger, and he could not help wondering why 
the singular man had taken such an interest in him. 
The pleasant reflections filling his mind made him 
poorly prepared to meet the startling intelligence his 


A FIERY GIRDLE. 


Ill 


grandfather was trembling to communicate to him 
the moment he should appean That Rilma should 
not hear it, he had stood for an hour anxiously 
awaiting him by the river’s bank where he had parted 
from him in the morning. 


CHAPTER XII. 


BAD NEWS AT HOME. 

Upon seeing Norman approaching, Mr. MacDonald 
hurried forward to meet him, so excited and alarmed 
that he could not speak. 

“What is it, grandfather?” asked Norman, anx- 
iously, as he half supported his aged relative, while 
they began to move slowly up the path. “ Some- 
thing has happened since I went away. Have — 
have Rilma’s injuries proved more serious than we 
thought ? ” 

“ It’s nae that, ma laddie. It’s th’ sorriest bit o’ 
news I hae heard since cornin’ tae this place. A 
man has been here this day an’ telt me that this 
hame is nae oors — that we maun leave it ! ” 

It was some time before Norman could fully under- 
stand the incoherent account of his grandfather, but 
gradually he learned the truth. Two men had been 
there and served a notice for them to move away 
from the place, which they claimed was theirs. 

“Tae think we are again fugitives ! ” moaned the 
broken-hearted man. “What hae I dune tae merit 


BAD NEWS AT HOME. 1 1 3 

this ? An auld man i’ th’ wilda’, far frae the terrible 
scenes whaur Fve suffered an’ lost sae muckle, I hae 
hoped for peace, — a few days o’ quiet to see the sun 
o’ my life set. Weel, it is feint tae be. An’ this 
seems the mair cruel deed o’ them a’, an’ God wists 
the last was terrible. A refugee amang strangers in 
an alien wilda’ ! ” 

By the time they reached the house he was weep- 
ing like a child, and, leading him to one of the seats, 
Norman placed his hand on his gray head, saying, 
softly : 

“ Do not despair, grandfather ; it may not be as 
bad as you think. Who came to see you, and what 
did he say V' 

‘‘There were twa o’ them, laddie, an’ ilk said 
we’re on Ian’ which is theirs. I denied the lee, when 
they ca’d me a thief an’ a leear ! Oh, coul^jj but 
laid my haun’ on my staff then I wadna hae spared 
the skellum ! I — ” 

“ I hope you did not strike one of them, grand- 
father,” said Norman, who could see that such a 
course would only add to the seriousness of their 
situation. 

“ I dinna care ! I dinna care ! ” moaned the old 
Highlander. 

It seemed that neither of the visitors had given 
any name, but from such fragments of description as 
Norman could gather, he concluded that one of them 


THE WOODRANGER. 


II4 

had been Gunwad. Now that he came to think of 
it, he remembered that he had not seen the deer 
reeve at the shooting-match or the fire. No doubt, 
upon his failure to prove his charges of shooting 
deer out of season, he had taken this move to renew 
his persecution. How serious it might become he 
had yet no way of judging. 

When Mr. MacDonald became calmer, he was able 
to converse with Norman more intelligently. 

I hae kep’ this frae Rilma,” he said. “ Puir 
bairn ! I couldna bear to hae her ken it. Hoo lang 
it seemed afore ye cam ! ” 

But I have come safely, grandfather, and I come 
free! They did not prove me guilty, and let us 
hope this new trouble will be as easily overcome. 
How is dear sister } ” 

Before a reply could be given her own sweet voice 
fell on their ears, and, looking around, they were 
surprised to find her standing in the opening leading 
to the inner apartment. 

“I am better, dear brother,” she said. Please 
do not blame me, but I have heard every word that 
has been said, so I know your troubles, as it is right 
I should. Why did you want to rob me of the 
privilege of trying to comfort you in your grief, 
grandfather } Is it because you prize home more 
than me ” 

“ The gude Lord forgie me, bonnie lassie I Ae 


BAD NEWS AT HOME, II5 

kiss frae your sweet lips is worth mair than a’ the 
hames in the wilda’.” 

“ Here is the kiss, dearest of grandfathers, with 
one for count ! So cheer up and let the sun shine. 
Tears ill become a MacDonald.” 

“Till ye hae seen a MacDonald weep ye canna 
ken what weepin’ is. But forgie me, bonnie lassie, 
sic a little angel as ye is enough to cheer the heart 
o’ an auld man, though it be hardened as leather.” 

She had twined her arms about his neck and was 
kissing away the tear-drops, while he folded her to 
his bosom. 

“ Easy, grandfather,” said Norman ; “ remember 
the hurts on her tender shoulders.” 

“ Never mind them, grandfather, but hug just as 
hard as you want to. You don’t hurt a mite, and 
I was never so happy in my life ! ” 

Rilma’s tender entreaties were not without avail, 
for soon the other lifted his gray head, and as she 
brushed back the thin locks from the noble temple, 
he said, in a merry tone : 

“ I dinna ken how tae thank ye, ma bonnie lassie. 
Ye hae lifted the load frae ma heart. See ! I smile ! 
I’m a MacDonald again.” 

The childish joy of the old Highlander was some- 
thing pathetic to witness. Knowing how quickly 
it might be driven away, Norman turned aside to 
conceal his emotion. Rilma, younger, more con- 


Il6 THE WOODRANGER, 

fiding and confident, continued her caresses, until 
he laughed in genuine happiness. 

‘‘What do we care for an old log cabin, grand- 
father } Norman can build another, better than this ; 
but he cannot bring us another grandfather like you. 
I am going to enjoy your dear old self while I can.” 

Her light-heartedness was contagious, and it 
wasn’t long before all three were chatting as 
merrily as if no unscrupulous enemy were trying 
to rob them of home and peace of mind. 

“There is one thing certain, grandfather,” said Nor- 
man, “this Gun wad cannot say we robbed knowingly. 
The good names of MacDonald and McNiel — ” 

“ Wheesht, ma laddie ! wad ye mar the sunlicht 
by the darkness o’ that name } Ye dinna ken what 
ye say,” and as his transition from childlike grief 
to childlike joy had been swift, so did he instantly 
assume something of the 'fire of his earlier years. 
The broad, high brow contracted with a frown, and 
the deep, sunken eyes flashed with a lustre which 
gave a wild appearance to his countenance, showing 
the intensity of his pent-up feelings. The slim, 
bony fingers clutched his staff closely, while he 
brought it smartly down upon the floor. 

This sudden change in his demeanour frightened 
Rilma, but Norman showed that he was prepared 
for it. Instead of trembling for what he had said, 
he exclaimed, boldly : 


BAD NEWS AT NOME. liy 

** I am sorry to have pained you, grandfather, by 
my words. Why is it you always fly into a rage 
when father’s name — Please do not interrupt me, 
or think me rude. I must speak and I will ! I 
claim the right to speak his name to you, who have 
been so kind to me. You know I have persisted in 
bearing it, when you have wished me to take that of 
MacDonald. I do not love it less for that, neither 
will I believe in the dishonour of McNiel until I 
know some reason for doing so. You have never 
allowed me to speak of father, but the time has come 
when you must speak. I am old enough and brave 
enough to know the truth, be it ever so dreadful. 
Nothing can be worse to me than this bitter silence.” 

Lad, hae I e’er been unkind to ye ? ” 

‘‘ You have been as kind as any father to Rilma 
and me, dear grandfather, in everything but this 
silence. I would not pain you for the world by 
asking that which it seemed to me I had no right 
to hear. But I do believe I ought to know this 
secret hanging over my father’s name and mine, for 
what he bore must I bear.” 

‘‘Ye hae trouble enough o’ yer ain withoot that 
that anither was only owergled tae lay doon. Lad, it 
is better I remain silent as I hae sae lang.” 

“ You wrong us all when you say that, grand- 
father. It is your duty to tell ; it is my duty and 
Rilma’s to know. If you persist much longer in 


1 1 8 THE WOODRANGER. 

keeping it from me, I will learn it from some other 
source, if I have to cross the sea and get it from 
strangers. I have for some time been thinking of 
asking it of you, and I feel that the occasion has 
come. Now, under the cloud of this other oppres- 
sion, let me know all, — remember, be it ever so 
shameful or ever so sad, ally 

Robert MacDonald buried his face in his hands 
and groaned aloud, saying, while his young compan- 
ions waited anxiously : 

Alas ! it never rains but it pours ! Maun I tell 
it? A’, Jeannette, ma ain wranged, kilt bairn, the 
dearest, sweetest that e’er blessed a fond faither’s 
heart, shall I speak anither word ? ” 

Then, as he lifted his head and met Norman’s 
clear, unflinching gaze, and beheld Rilma’s innocent 
surprise, his heart seemed to tell him it was right 
that he should tell all. 

As he began, unheard and unobserved by the 
three, the figure of the Woodranger appeared in 
the doorway, he having drawn near with his natural 
silence, but with no thought of listening to that 
which might not concern him. At the sound of the 
narrator’s voice he stopped, and something in the old 
Highlander’s tones or words caused him to remain 
motionless as a statue, his long rifle resting its butt 
on the ground, while it supported on its muzzle the 
forester’s bearded chin. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


THE HONOUR OF THE McNIELS. 

‘‘The McNiels are a bonnie race o’ men,” began 
the old Highlander, “ an’ those o’ them are yet 
livin’ wha honour their memory. The braw Daniel, 
then ane o’ the Council o’ Londonderry, writ the 
resolutions o’ opposition tae the cowardly an’ treach- 
erous Lundy, governor of Ireland an’ tool in the 
hauns o’ James, an’ which, signed by twenty ithers 
o’ the council, was placarded in the public places an’ 
read to the people, awakenin’ them tae that braw 
defence o’ the cause. Frae him are ye descended, 
Norman, wi’ the best bluid o’ the MacDonalds in 
your veins. 

“Forgie an auld man’s weakness, ma laddie, but 
it was a prood day when my Jeannette became the 
bride o’ Archie McNiel, she ne’er dreamin’ o’ the 
cloud sae low ower her happiness, nor I o’ the day 
when I should speak the name in shame. I ne’er 
minded my loneliness in seein’ her gang awa’ frae 
the auld hame, for I had a son, Alick, the same age 
as Archie, an’ he had come hame wi’ a bonnie bride. 

119 


120 


THE WOOHRANGER. 


Weel micht I be prood o’ my Alick, for he was a 
handsome lad, wi’ a’ the pride an’ bravery o’ his 
grandfaither, the bauld but headstrong Chiel o’ 
Glencoe." Yer grandmither, Heaven bless her 
sainted memory, ne’er recovered from her terrible 
experience in the mountain o’ Glencoe on that fear- 
ful day. She died soon after yer mither was born, 
leavin’ her a wee, wee bairn in ma airms. 

‘‘The same year this double marriage in ma familie 
took place , the good Faither MacGregor started wi’ 
his flock for Ameriky, an’ at the same time cum 
that awfu’ affair that finished wreckin’ an auld man’s 
life. 

“The wicked James o’ England had deed in 
France, but he had left a son, the Pretender, as 
ilka ane cam’ to ca’ him, wha tried to carry oot 
the plans o’ his faither. Twa years afore Faither 
MacGregor an’ his pairty started for Ameriky, this 
Pretender tried to stir up anither strife amang the 
Scots, but miserably failed. But it cam’ oot that he 
left ane ahint tae play the spy an’ betrayer. That 


* A stalwart Highlander who led his clan against the English in 
the bitter struggles of those times, until he and his followers were 
completely routed, those who were not killed defending their homes 
and loved ones, perishing in the mountains of hunger and cold. To 
this day the wild, gloomy Pass of Glencoe, where this tragedy took 
place, is fittingly known in the Gaelic tongue as the “ Glen of 
Weeping.” Among the few who escaped were Robert MacDonald, 
the youngest son of the chief, and his young wife. 


THE HONOUR OF THE McN/ELS. 12 1 

ane was Archie McNiel ! God forgie that I , should 
be the ane to say it. 

‘<This traitor planned to hae the little band o’ 
emigrants waylaid an’ slaughtered while on their 
journey to the coast. But ane he took into his 
confidence confessed the secret, and he was frus- 
trated in his evil ettle. In escapin’ he killed ane o’ 
the pairty. A fugitive frae that day, without tellin’ 
Jeannette o’ his infamous doings, he fled wi’ her tae 
the highlands. While in his concealment, ma lad, 
Alick, ran ower him quite accidental like. Thinkin’ 
the braw laddie was after him, he killed his brother ! 
My bonnie boy lived long enough to reach hame an’ 
tell me what his brother had done, an’ also telt me 
that the ither had fa’en under his avengin’ blow. 

“ In my double grief I searched for Jeannette, 
until I succeeded in gettin’ her hame. She lived 
only lang enough for ye tae be born, when her white 
soul fled to whaur weepin’ is na kent. She deed o’ 
grief an’ shame, Archie McNiel her murderer. Left 
alane wi’ Mary an’ you, I lived for you twa until 
Mary married again, an’ goin’ to her new hame left 
Rilma, a bit o’ a bairn, in my keepin’. I ne’er wist 
what become o’ her frae that day. In ma loneliness 
I cam’ tae this country, hopin’ tae begin life anew, 
and wi’ the sorrow left out. 

“ There, ma braw laddie, ye hae the truth o’ him 
wha should hae been the licht an’ strength o’ oor 


122 


THE WOODRANGER. 


lives, but wha flung awa’. Do you wonder I hate 
him, him wha twa times took my ain life by killin’ 
those dearest tae me? Ay, I’m an auld man noo, 
but e’en in my weakness I rise to curse his name ! ” 

Here the narrator broke down, burying his face in 
his hands, while he wept scalding tears. Norman 
crossed to his side, and, gently raising his head, said, 
softly : 

“I am sorry to have caused you so much pain, 
grandfather. I am sorry for father’s sin. I am 
sorry for poor mother, — for you, — for Rilma, — 
for all. Now that I know the sad truth, we will let 
the matter drop. Poor, misguided father, he must 
have been deceived some way ; but I promise you his 
name shall not be spoken again.” 

At this juncture the Woodranger, who had re- 
mained a silent listener to this pathetic story, turned 
on his heel, and, with a look on his countenance no 
man had ever seen, stole away as noiselessly as he 
had come. 

When his grandfather had become more calm, 
Norman told him of the forenoon’s adventure, 
hoping thus to draw the other’s mind from the 
affairs which it could be plainly seen were resting 
heavily on his heart. 

«I am going up to see Archie Stark,” said 
Norman, finally. ‘‘He can tell us better what to 
do than any other man, and his advice will be more 


THE HONOUR OF THE McNlELS. 


123 


trustworthy. His word will have more weight with 
the others, too. So cheer up, grandfather, while I 
am gone. I will be back soon. Rilma, you must 
keep as still as possible. There, I won’t be away 
long this time.” 

In order to keep even with the events as they 
transpired, it will be necessary to mention a little 
incident which occurred on that forenoon, before 
continuing with the fortunes of Norman. Unknown 
to him, Mr. MacDonald had not been the only one 
Gunwad and his companion had come to Namaske to 
see on that summer day. On leaving the old High- 
lander, they sought a humble cabin on the bank of 
a small stream tributary to the Merrimack River, and 
known to this day in memory of its dusky occupant, 
at that time the sole survivor in the vicinity of the 
once powerful confederacy of the Pennacooks. 

The two approached the bark dwelling with all 
the caution of hunters on the trail. Gunwad’s com- 
panion led the way, dodging from tree to tree, or 
crawling on his hands and knees through the under- 
growth, where it was thick enough to conceal his 
form, the deer reeve imitating his example.' Why 
the twain should have adopted this cautious way of 
reaching the humble home of the solitary Indian, 
in a time of peace, can only be explained by the fact 
that both were arrant cowards. Christian, or Christo, 
as his name had been shortened, was what was known 


124 


THE WOODRANGER. 


as a praying Indian,” and on amicable terms with 
the white settlers. Still, there were always those 
who were so prejudiced against the race as not to 
believe one of them under any circumstance. So 
Christo had a hard time of it, though he went about 
his simple methods of getting a living with apparent 
unconcern. 

Gunwad now bore in his pocket a warrant for 
Christo’s arrest for shooting deer out of season. 
Having failed in proving his charge against Norman, 
and remembering what the Woodranger had said 
about the bullet found in the deer belonging to 
an Indian, he had lost no time in seeking his cap- 
ture. This Pennacook being the only red man 
known to be in the vicinity, he felt sure he was 
on the right track this time. He had, in his own 
mind, two reasons for this cautious way of attack. 
He was afraid, if he gave the Indian the opportunity, 
he might resist, or else take to the forest, and thus 
escape. 

The deer reeve, after half an hour’s loss of time, 
found that he and his companion had taken their 
trouble for nothing. Upon closer approach, the rude 
dwelling gave every appearance of being empty. 

He may be hidin’ inside, ready to shoot us down 
in cold blood,” declared the deer reeve, with a 
shudder. 

‘‘The bird has flown,” said the other. “There’s 


THE HONOUR OF THE McNIELS. 1 25 

no doubt of that,” starting boldly toward the 
wigwam. 

I might have known he would take advantage o' 
the time thet young refugee cost me,” muttered 
Gunwad, following at the other’s heels. “ Let’s 
look in an’ see ef there’s enny trace o’ the red 
rascal.” 

A few primitive cooking utensils, an old net for 
catching fish, a pair of discarded moccasins, and 
a pile of boughs in one corner were about all that 
caught the gaze of the intruders. 

‘‘ He’s gone, sure ’nough,” acknowledged Gunwad. 
** So has. my share in the reward. They’re bound to 
beat me out’n it. But the redskin, if he ever dares 
to come back, shall pay dearly for the trouble he has 
made me. It’ll add interest, too, to my ’count with 
them Scot refugees, or I don’t know black from 
white. Let’s git back to Cohas.” 

As nothing better could be done, the couple 
started for the lower end of the town, Gunwad but 
poorly satisfied with the result of his visit, though 
he was well pleased with the fright he had given Mr. 
MacDonald, 


CHAPTER XIV. 


NORMAN WORKS IN A STUMP - FIELD. 

NoRman made a wiser choice than he realised at 
the time in seeking Mr. Archibald Stark, or “ Old 
Archie,” as he was generally called, though he was 
then only forty-seven years old. This Mr. Stark, 
the father of Johnny, who figured in our hero’s 
adventure with the wildcats, was a native of Glas- 
gow, Scotland. When a young man he had emigrated 
to this country, settling first in Nut field, but after- 
ward moving to Old Harrytown, upon a lot he had 
bought of a grantee of the Massachusetts province. 
The Stark homestead contained about five hundred 
acres of land, of better quality than the land below 
it, and extended for about half a mile along the east 
bank of the river above the falls. Mr. Stark was 
an educated man, and his wife a beautiful, kind- 
hearted woman. They had seven children, four boys 
and three girls, and as there were no schools in the 
vicinity at that time, these were taught at home. It 
was under that kindly and unselfish instruction John 
Stark got the education which was so much help to 
126 


NORMAN WORKS IN A STUMP- FIELD. 12 / 

him in the important part he was to act in the com- 
ing wars against Indians and foreign enemies. 

Imbued with the true spirit of progress and a 
hard worker, Mr. Stark was the best farmer in Harry- 
town. He had chosen his location with happier 
results than many of the Tyng men, who had been 
obliged to get theirs by lot, and he bent his whole 
attention to improving his land, and gave but little 
time to fishing and hunting. 

“ The abundance of fish in the river and game in the 
woods,” he used to say, “is both a blessing and a 
curse to the settlers. It is a blessing, as it affords 
a means of sustenance to some who might go hungry ; 
a curse, as many spend their time on the hunt when 
they should be improving the soil and their homes. 
The spade and the hoe are the staffs of life, not the 
fishing-pole and the gun. Living by the hunt is well 
enough for the savages, but it is not the true way 
for civilised people. I am sorry that my boys have 
such an inclination for living in the woods. I do 
believe that Johnny had rather tramp all day through 
the wilderness in pursuit of a deer than to eat a good 
meal of victuals when he is hungry.” 

Norman found Mr. Stark at work, with his two 
older boys, William and Johnny, on a new lot he 
was clearing off. Johnny was driving a yoke of 
oxen, “ twitching off ” some fallen trees, which had 
to be drawn together to be burned 


128 


THE WOODRANGER. 


Archie Stark and Mr. MacDonald had been on 
intimate terms ever since the latter had come to 
Harry town, and he was perfectly familiar with the 
old Highlander’s sorrows and anxieties. He knew 
the sad story of the massacre of Glencoe, as well as 
the siege of Londonderry, and even of the mistaken 
course of Archie McNiel, though he never hinted 
of the latter to Norman, whom he respected none 
the less for the mistakes of his parent. His greeting, 
on this August afternoon, was in keeping with his 
genial nature: 

Ho, me lad ! come to give an old man a lift } I 
was thinking of you this morning and wondering 

M 

where I could find a likelier lad to help me clear 
away these stumps and trees, so as to get this into 
fit mowage. I tell you, my lad, it has got to be 
done, let them fish who will. Civilised men and 
women need bread and butter, and oxen and cows 
must have hay these long, cold winters. I’ll give 
you three shillings a day. Is it a bargain.?” 

Three shillings is equal to seventy-five cents, as 
we reckon it, but colonial money of those days was 
of less value than the pound sterling of Great 
Britain, which would reduce that amount to about 
fifty cents a day. 

Though this offer had come most unexpectedly to 
Norman, it instantly appealed to his judgment as an 
opportunity too good to be lost. 


NORMAN WORKS IN A STUMP -FIELD. 1 29 

I thank you, Mr. Stark ; I think I will accept. 
But I must free my mind of another matter before 
I can begin work. I am sorry to — ” 

‘^Tut — tut, lad! don’t let any excuses trouble 
you. Take a seat on this fallen tree and tell me all 
about it. It is always best to have a free mind. 
It is too hot this weather to keep at it all the time. 
Let the oxen rest, Johnny. Billy, you run down to 
the spring and get a gourd of cool water. Now, go 
ahead, my lad, and mind you make a clean breast 
of it.” 

Encouraged with these kindly words, Norman at 
once began his account of the shooting of the deer, 
and of Gunwad’s subsequent course of action, the 
other listening without interruption until he had 
finished. 

Well, lad,” said Mr. Stark, I can see why you 
worry ; but cast that off. I am willing to allow that 
this Gunwad has it in his power to work you evil, if 
his plans succeed. You, or your grandfather, which 
amounts to the same, got your lot of a New Hamp- 
shire grantee, while I got mine of a Massachusetts 
party, one of which had just about as good a title 
as the other. But you are in the way of these Tyng 
colonists. This Gunwad has bought the right or 
title, or whatever you may call it, of the Tyng man 
who drew that lot. Now he, Gunwad, claims it, and 
warns you off. Several others have done the same. 


THE WOODRANGER. 


130 

and cases are in the court unsettled. In fact, they 
cannot be settled until this boundary line has been 
settled. If the lower province (Massachusetts) 
makes good her claim, you will have to lose your 
home, always supposing you will get a little for 
improvements.” 

“ So you advise grandfather and me to move 
away ? ” 

‘‘ Hold right on, lad ! I advise nothing of the kind. 
These Tyng grantees have shouldered a burden they 
little thought of at the outset. Though they are 
carrying matters with a high hand now, it is by no 
means certain they are going to win in the end. 
Candidly, I do not think Gunwad’s warning will 
amount to much at this time. At the next Proprie- 
tors’ Meeting a vote may be passed to sustain such 
action, for he will have the township behind him. 
But even then, with the boundary line settled to 
their satisfaction, there is something concerned with 
their success here which few seem to have taken 
into serious consideration. In getting these grants 
the colonists have certain conditions to carry out, in 
order to hold their title. They have got to build 
a house of seven foot stud, that is wall, and eighteen 
feet square ; have got to clear four acres of ground 
and help build a church within four years. Now 
none of these conditions were complied with by the 
grantee of the lot you occupy. Neither has Tyng 


NORMAN WORKS IN A STUMP -FIELD. 13I 

Township yet built any meeting-house or settled 
a minister, though they can be excused for this on 
account of the failure of any one to raise a mill, as 
was expected. The mill is now nearly done, and I 
expect the lumber will be sawed in season to build 
the meeting-house this fall. I mention these facts 
that you may understand the exact situation. Within 
a year I believe this boundary dispute will be settled 
for ever. If Massachusetts loses, these grants of 
Harrytown will not be worth a fig to these Tyng 
men.” 

“ What will happen then } ” asked Norman. 

‘‘The Scotch-Irish grant from New Hampshire 
will hold the territory, all except the reserve about 
Namaske. Your homestead comes in that territory, 
but I think you will have no trouble. I have been 
studying the situation considerably, and these are 
my honest convictions. Wait and see what Gun- 
wad’s next move will be. Now I come back to my 
question. Are you going to help me this month, 
beginning to-morrow .? ” 

“ I shall be glad to do so, as there is not more at 
home than grandfather can do.” 

“ I am glad of it, as I want to get this lot cleared 
before the fall rains. I mean to sow a piece of winter 
rye. And while you are coming here to work, and 
after, I want Rilma to attend our studies. She can go 
home with you, if she comes up in the afternoon.” 


132 


THE WOODRANGER. 


Norman thanked Mr. Stark for his kindness, and 
returned home in better spirits than when he had 
left. His report, too, awakened the hopes of Mr. 
MacDonald. 

The following morning he began work in Mr. 
Stark’s stump-field, beginning by driving the oxen to 
draw off the fallen trees and uproot the stumps, 
learning a lesson of patience and fortitude from 
those useful creatures he never forgot. 

Mr. Stark worked busily in the new clearing with 
his help, always willing to take hold of the butt end 
of the log if it happened to come nearest to him. 
Nothing seemed to fret him, except a shirk. He 
despised a lazy person. 

On the second day that Norman worked for him 
Zack Bitlock came shambling into the lot, to begin 
work. He was still barefooted, his lank figure 
clothed in earth-coloured shirt and trousers. He 
was accompanied by a youth of fifteen, the exact 
counterpart of the father, even to the bare feet, the 
sunburned face, the shirt and trousers. He led, by a 
piece of deer thong, a lean, lank dog, clay-coloured, 
like the clothes of its master. Its most remarkable 
feature was its ears, which were of such enormous 
size as to flop up and down with a sort of gushy ” 
noise as the creature jogged along at the heels of its 
human companions. 

“ Gol dang yit, ’squire ! ” greeted the new arrival. 


NORMAN WORKS IN A STUMP -FIELD. 1 33 

Goodman Bitlock, senior, seen the cur’usist sight 
an’ heerd the cur’usist noise down yander on th’ sand 
piles ye ever sot eyes an’ ears on. Me an’ Lige an’ 
th’ tarnal dorg — Lige w’u’d take ther critter erlong 
— wuz cornin’ erlong when th’ dolefulest sound ye 
ever sot bearin’ on come frum th’ side o’ th’ road. 
Sez I to Lige, sez I : ‘ Wot in creation mought thet 
be ? ’ An’ th’ dorg pricked up his ears, an’ when 
thet dorg pricks up his ears set yit down fer good 
an’ all there’s sumthin’ round ! 

“ Wul, Lige an’ me looked, but all I c’u’d see was 
a leetle albiner squirrel a-sottin’ on th’ sand pile, but 
I c’u’d see th’ leetle runt wuz cryin’ so yit had los’ 
yit’s pa an’ ma an’ other ’lations. I wuz natcherly 
struck by yits ’pearance, an’ I says, says I : 

‘ Whut’s th’ tarnal trubble, leetle feller .? ’ 

Then th’ poo’ thing rubbed th’ tears erway with 
one fore paw, an’ yit says, says yit : 

* Mister, ye air kind, but ye can’t hel’ me.’ 

‘ But I can show ye my good-will,’ says I, I says, 
‘ so pipe erhead, my eetle fri’nd.’ 

‘‘ Then yit give yits big, sorrerful eyes anuther dab 
with yits paw, an’ says, says yit : 

‘‘ ‘ Ye can’t hel’ me, mister. Me pa died yester- 
day an’ he willed me th’ hull o’ 01’ Harrytown, but 
yit wuz with th’ perwision thet I live in yit, an’ I,’ 
givin’ ernuther dab fer yits eye with yits paw, * / /lev 
got to starve to death ! ’ 


134 


THE WOODRANGER. 


‘‘ Gol dang ef I don’t think thet poo’ albiner wuz 
erbout right. Ef we don’t all starve to death on 
these sand heaps yit’ll be becos we hev got so dried 
up thet th’ wind will blow us erway.” 

That’s a pretty good story, Zack,” declared Mr. 
Stark. “ If you were as good in breaking in stump- 
land as you are at story-telling, you would be worth 
your wages.” 

“Which is saying as much thet I ain’t now. Go 
erlong, ’squire, ef I weren’t so tarnal good-natured 
I’d git mad.” 

Norman had now turned the oxen over to Johnny 
Stark, and with Goodman Bitlock was helping Mr. 
Stark fell the big trees growing on the edge of the 
clearing, which the owner wished to make larger. 
These pines, many of them of huge size, after being 
felled had to have their branches cut away, so the 
cattle could pull them together. In some cases they 
had to be chopped in twain before the stout oxen 
could draw them. Those best suited to his purpose 
Mr. Stark was saving to be hewn for the timbers of 
a sawmill he was intending to build at an early day. 

Lige Bitlock, though he was older and bigger than 
the Stark boys, did not offer to do any work. He 
spent the most of his time following his dog through 
the adjacent growth, or fishing from the bank of the 
river. 

“If I had such a shiftless boy as that of yours. 


NORMAiY IVOR RTS IN A STUMP -FIELD. 1 35 

Goodman Bitlock,” said Mr. Stark, bluntly, I’d tie 
a deer thong around his neck and throw him over the 
falls.” 

“ Go easy, ’squire, go easy. Thet boy ain’t no 
fool, an’ he says, says he, he’s goin’ to make a big 
hunter like Woodranger.” 

Got a mighty poor showing, then. What would 
a whole regiment of Woodrangers amount to } The 
more we have of such men the less there is done in 
improvement.” 

Woodranger fit with Love well,” replied Bitlock, 
in whose mind such a deed made a man a hero fit to 
worship afar off. ‘‘ If my Lige c’u’d ’a’ fit with 
Love well — ” 

He’d been killed long before this, and that would 
have been a wise dispensation of Providence to get 
rid of refuse matter. But if he is so smart I want 
him to go down to Mr. Perham’s, and get my long 
deer rope which he borrowed more than six months 
ago. I do wish men would return as readily as they 
borrow. We shall need the line in pulling over the 
leaning pine up yonder. It will give the oxen more 
than they can pull if it falls back over the ridge.” 

Is th’ rope heavy, ’squire } ” 

Weighs about half a ton ! Perhaps you think 
Johnny had better go along with him. I can’t spare 
him. If I could I would send him alone. The oxen 
must be kept to work.” 


136 THE WOODRANGER. 

Why can’t Archie go ? ” asked Bitlock. 

Archie was two years younger than Johnny, and, 
as he was not at work, his father did not object 
to his going. 

“ Min’ ye, Lige, ye come right back,” said his 
father. Don’t go off inter th’ woods, ’cos ye know 
erbout thet wildcat screech we heerd.” 

Lige promised to return as quickly as possible, 
and with his dog at his side, and little Archie Stark 
following behind, he set out down the road. 

Dunno but I oughter gone with thet boy,” mut- 
tered Bitlock, as he gazed after his hopeful son, 
scratching his head with sluggish movements. After 
standing five minutes looking vacantly at the space 
where he had last seen Lige, Goodman Bitlock lei- 
surely picked up his axe, and, after spending five min- 
utes more in flicking off an accumulation of dirt with 
a pine bough, he got to work again. 

When it was getting to be time for the boys to 
return, he began to cast anxious glances down the 
road, until he was startled by the sight of a well- 
known figure approaching at a swift run. It was 
Lige, and he was startled because it was- unusual to 
see him running at that rate, unless he was in pur- 
suit of a squirrel or some frightened denizen of the 
woods. Lige showed, too, that he was labouring 
under great excitement, while his dog kept close 
beside him, uttering quick, short yelps. 


NORMAN IVOR NS IN A STUMP -FIELD. 1 37 

Why ! whut’s happened now ? ” cried Bitlock, 
dropping his axe, and standing with extended arms 
and wide-opened mouth. “Whut’s scart ye so, 
Lige.?” 

By this time all in the clearing had stopped work, 
to learn what the trouble was. 

“ I ain’t scart, dad ! ” replied Lige, as soon as he 
could get his breath enough to speak. “I ain’t a 
bit scart, dad ; and I’ve come right back, as ye tole 
me.” 

Goodman Bitlock drew a breath of relief, while 
the others resumed work. The proud father said, in 
a complimentary tone : 

“Ye’re a smart boy, Lige, an’ ye’ll ermount to 
sumthin’. How ye mus’ hev run to git hyur so 
soon.” 

“ I did, dad.” 

He said nothing of Archie or the rope, and Mr. 
Stark, thinking his son would soon appear with the 
deer thong, asked no questions, until five minutes 
had passed without bringing the missing boy. 

“ We want that rope,” declared Mr. Stark, impa- 
tiently. “ Why didn’t you bring it along, Lige ? ” 

“ I left it with Arch.” 

“ Where is Archie } ” 

“ With th’ rope, mister. I had to run to get hyur 
right back.” 

Mr. Stark grumbled a little because of the non- 


138 


THE WOODRANGER. 


appearance of Archie, but for fifteen minutes more 
nothing wrong was suspected. Then, upon being 
questioned more closely, Lige blurted out ; 

I don’t know but th’ b’ar eat him up ! I had to 
run ’way from him to git right back.” 

Mr. Stark’s inquiries grew more pointed, and the 
frightened youth explained that a big bear had 
attacked them, and that he had barely escaped by 
running for his life. 

“ And what has become of my poor boy ? ” cried 
the distracted father. 

Though realising that it was too late to save 
Archie, if he had fallen into the clutches of the 
bear, Mr. Stark, Norman, and the others at once 
started down the road as fast as they could run. 


CHAPTER :?fV. 


HANGING A BEAR. 

Meanwhile what has happened to little Archie 
Stark Bears, as well as other wild beasts, were 
prowling about in the. forests, often coming very near 
to the scattered dwellings of the pioneers, and at that 
season of the year were inclined to be ugly. If Archie 
had met one there was small chance that his father 
and friends would find him alive. This was the more 
certain from the fact that fully half an hour had 
elapsed since Lige Bitlock had returned to the 
clearing, and they would have a mile to go before 
reaching the scene of his peril, according to the 
frightened youth’s incoherent report. 

The boys had made the journey to Mr. Perham’s 
in safety, and, getting the rope, started on their return 
with as little delay as possible. As the long line of 
deer thong was quite heavy, they took turns in car- 
rying it, Lige having the first task at lugging. 

No sooner had Archie taken the rope than, not- 
withstanding his repeated promises to his father 
about getting right back,” Lige began to leave the 

139 


140 


THE WOODRANGER. 


road at intervals, to make detours into the adjoining 
forest, always led in these wanderings by his dog, 
Pluck. Archie remonstrated with him in vain, trying 
to frighten him by declaring that he would start up 
a wildcat or a bear. 

‘‘I sh’u’d jes’ like to scare up a cat an’ see Pluck 
pull its fur ! Dad says there is one on th’ island an’ — 
hark ! thet dorg has scart up sumthin’ ! When thet 
dorg barks it means sumthin’ ! ” and he bounded in 
the 'direction of the sound. 

But Lige Bitlock had not fairly vanished from 
sight before he reappeared with redoubled speed, the 
yelping dog close beside him. At the same time was 
heard the crashing of a huge body lumbering through 
the undergrowth at their heels. 

A b’ar ! ” yelled Lige, a b’ar ! Run fer yer life. 
Arch ! ” 

It proved that the dog had run upon a couple of 
cubs in the woods, but it had scarcely begun to bark 
at them before the old mother bear appeared. Now 
a bear is not the most ferocious creature in the 
world if not aroused by some unusual action. But 
a mother bear, filled with the idea that harm is threat- 
ening her cubs, is about as ugly a customer as any 
one could wish to meddle with. Lige Bitlock was 
prudent to flee, but he was a coward to leave his 
younger friend to the mercy of the enraged beast. 

In order to carry the rope with as much ease as 


HANGING A BEAR. 


I4I 

possible, Archie had coiled it about his shoulders. 
When he saw the brute rushing toward him he 
found it difficult to free himself from his burden 
without stopping in his flight. So he was obliged 
to flee, his speed greatly retarded by the coil of deer 
thong. He called to his companion, but Lige, look- 
ing back over his shoulder, and seeing the bear close 
on Archie, sped away faster than before, while his 
dog, Pluck, proved itself anything but true to its 
name. 

Archie quickly realised that he could not outrun 
the bear, though he was favoured in his flight by 
the fact that one of the cubs, which kept beside its 
mother, was continually getting in the clumsy crea- 
ture’s way, thus checking her pursuit. He was a 
brave boy, and determined to flght for his life when 
he found that further flight was useless. Seeing a 
chestnut-tree standing a short distance back from 
the road, and with branches coming down within 
easy reach, he resolved to try and climb it before the 
bear should overtake him. 

Accordingly he plunged through the brushwood, 
and, quickly reaching the tree, seized one of the lower 
limbs, and swung himself up just as the brute snapped 
at his bare feet. It was a narrow escape, but, having 
fairly got into the chestnut, he ascended like a squir- 
rel to the top. There he paused for his first breathing 
spell, and to see what the bear would do next. 


142 


THE WOODRANGER. 


Not to be cheated of its prey, the aroused creature, 
after giving a furious growl, began to climb the tree 
with a celerity wonderful for one so clumsy in its 
movements on the ground. As she mounted higher 
and higher, Archie began to tremble lest she should 
reach him. So up he went, until the branches be- 
came so slender and pliant as almost to refuse to 
bear his weight. Surely the bear could not reach 
him there. 

After gaining a perch as high as she could very well 
get, the bear stopped, glaring up fiercely at him and 
renewing her savage grunts and growls. She was 
within eight or ten feet of him, and Archie was des- 
perate. He felt that he must surely be caught, as 
she soon began to ascend still higher, the chestnut 
swaying far over on one side, as her ponderous body 
rose. 

But Mistress Bruin had really climbed as high as 
she could. After a few futile attempts to reach her 
victim, she settled back into her resting-place, and 
resumed her threatening cries. 

Thinking that at the worst he would only be com- 
pelled to remain there until friends should come to 
his rescue, Archie was beginning to feel hopeful, 
when the bear began new tactics, which were to 
prove more dangerous than any before. 

She began to shake the tree vigorously, and the 
whole top of the chestnut shook as if assailed by 


HANGING A BEAR. 


143 


a Septeraber gale. At the outset Archie was nearly 
flung from his precarious perch. Soon succeeding 
in getting a firmer hold, he held on for dear life, until 
the bear stopped, grunting and threatening to renew 
her attacks. 

He was so high in the air that he knew a fall to 
the ground meant broken limbs, if not instant death. 
He could not pass the bear, so that escape was cut 
off. During the brief respite allowed him his mind 
was very active, until he believed he had hit upon 
a plan which might enable him to escape. He could 
not be any worse off if it failed. 

He still carried the rope coiled about his shoul- 
ders, and he at once began to remove it, the bear 
watching his work with evident curiosity, growling 
occasionally, and trying to reach the line with one of 
her fore paws. He wasn’t a great while in getting 
the line free, and, calculating on the length needed 
for his purpose, he proceeded to fasten that part to 
the trunk of the chestnut, as far below him as he 
could without getting in reach of the watchful 
brute. Then he made a running noose in the oppo- 
site end of the thong, being careful to see that the 
loop would slip freely. 

With an earnestness a human being might have 
exhibited the bear continued to watch him, abandon- 
ing for the time her attacks on the tree. As Archie 
lowered the noose toward her she snapped at it 


144 


THE WOODRANGER. 


furiously, and, missing it, snarled and tried to hit 
it with her paw. 

Anxiously Archie waited his opportunity, allowing 
the line to dangle above her head, though careful to 
keep it just out of her reach. By and by she 
seemed to lose interest in it, and renewed her 
assaults on the chestnut, more determined than ever, 
it seemed, to accomplish her intentions. 

The critical moment for the brave boy had come, 
and, not without many misgivings as to the result, 
and holding to his precarious perch with one hand, 
as she began her vigorous shaking Archie improved 
his opportunity to drop the noose over her head. 
So adroitly did he perform this act that the stout 
line fell fairly above her big neck. 

The moment she felt the line straighten she 
stopped her attack, and tried to free herself from 
the entangling rope. Finding herself unable to do 
that, the brute became enraged, and loosened one 
paw from the tree to seize on the offending object. 
The movement was fatal to her. Archie, watching 
his time, gave the tree a vigorous shake, feeling that 
it was his turn. The result surprised even him. 
The huge beast suddenly lost her hold, and, with 
a furious grCwl, went crashing down through the 
thick branches. 

At first Archie’s heart was filled with fear. He 
thought he had miscalculated the length of the rope, 





“ARCHIE IMPROVED HIS OPPORTUNITY TO DROP THE 
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HANGING A BEAR. 


145 


and that the bear would fall to the ground before 
reaching its limit. Then he was frightened lest the 
rope should break. These thoughts flew rapidly 
through his mind. Then there came a shock which 
nearly threw him from the tree. As soon as it had 
passed he looked anxiously downward, to see a dark 
form struggling in mid-air a few feet above the 
ground. It was the bear, which soon became quite 
motionless. He could hardly credit his eyes, but 
upon looking a second time he found the huge 
carcass still there, helpless now. 

The danger over, Archie felt very weak from 
reaction after the excitement, and as he descended 
the tree he came near losing his hold several times. 
But that was really no evidence of fear. He had 
shown himself extremely courageous in the moment 
of great peril, and had acted with wonderful fortitude 
and forethought. 

The dead bear’s cubs were whining piteously 
under the tree, trying in vain to reach the lifeless 
form of their mother dangling above their heads. 
Archie watched his opportunity to drop to the 
ground beyond their clutch, not knowing but they 
might make him trouble in their distracted state. 

A minute later he was running up the road as 
fast as he could go, though with different feelings 
stirring his bosom from those which had caused 
Lige Bitlock to use his long legs in covering the 


146 


THE WOODRANGER. 


ground. After running a short distance he slack- 
ened his speed to a walk, and he was pursuing his 
way in this deliberate manner when he was dis- 
covered by his father and the others. At sight of 
him Mr. Stark ran forward and clasped him in his 
arms, with terms of endearment. 

Showing considerable surprise at this greeting, 
Archie broke loose, saying : 

' Did you get tired of waiting for the rope, father } 
I had to leave it in the chestnut, but if you will let 
me have your stout knife I can soon get it for you.” 

‘‘ My bonnie boy ! what has happened ? The bear 
— where is it ” 

Hanging high and dry, father, in the old chest- 
nut in the hollow. Hilloa, Lige ! I see you got 
home all right ! ” 

Then, upon being questioned, Archie told his story 
in a modest way, and was at once the hero of the 
hour. Around the Stark hearthstone that evening 
bear stories were the one absorbing topic of conver- 
sation. The skin of Mistress Bruin was kept for 
many years in the family, as a memento of her 
youthful conqueror. 

Mr. Stark had been so wrought up over the affair 
that he declared no more work should be done that 
day. But, as it was then half past five, Norman did 
not feel that he was losing very much time. As 
Rilma came daily to recite her lessons, he waited as 


HANGING A BEAR. 


147 


usual to go home with her. No sister could have 
been dearer to him than she, and those walks were 
n^ver forgotten, when in later life they were both 
called into the midst of more exciting scenes. She 
delighted to go over with him her studies, gathering 
new light and interest from his kindly suggestions, 
while he told her whatever of interest had hap- 
pened to him during the day. And dull and dreary 
as were those hours of toil in the stump-field, he 
found many an incident which pleased her. 

One evening he had to tell her that Gunwad had 
been seen in the neighbourhood of Christo’s lone 
cabin, but they felt easier when they found that he 
had not been at their home. 

“ Perhaps he will not try to harm us again,” she 
said. 

“We will hope not,” he replied, though he knew 
only too well that such a hope was vain. The un- 
principled deer reeve was not one to give up so easily. 

His worst fears were realised a week later, when, 
as he and Rilma were returning from Mr. Stark’s, 
they heard the sound of angry voices, as they ap- 
proached their home. There was no mistaking the 
speakers. The first was their grandfather, whose 
tone, as well as words, showed that he was in a 
raging passion : 

“ Out o’ ma house, ye uncanny fule, afore I brak’ 
this staff ower yer thick heid ! ” 


148 


THE WOODRANGER. 


The reply was Gunwad’s, lower, and with an 
aggravating inflection in the speech : 

“ Lay so much as a finger on me ef ye dare, ye ol’ 
Scot refugee. I say, strike me ef ye dare, ye cow- 
ardly furriner ! ” 

“ I must get there before grandfather strikes him, 
or it will fare ill with us,” cried Norman, rushing 
toward the house at the top of his speed. 


CHAPTER XVL 


GUNWAD TAKES DECISIVE ACTION. 

Though expecting to meet an exciting scene, 
Norman was not prepared for the startling tableau 
which greeted his gaze as he bounded into the house. 
Two men, companions of Gun wad, stood like guards 
at the door, while the deer reeve had advanced to 
the opposite side of the room, and was shaking 
his fist in Mr. MacDonald’s face. The latter, who 
had allowed all the intense passion of his nature to 
assert itself, had retreated to the corner, and was in 
the act of bringing his stout staff down on the head 
of his tormentor. 

With an exclamation of warning, Norman sprang 
between the two, catching his grandfather’s uplifted 
arm in an attempt to turn the intended blow from 
the deer reeve. He succeeded in his purpose at 
the cost of a stinging stroke on his own shoulder, 
caused by a sudden turning of the cane. 

“ Don’t strike him, grandfather ! ” he cried. ** Be 
calm ; don’t you see it is his desire to make you do 
him harm, and then — ” 


149 


THE WOODRANGER. 


ISO 

Stand aside, lad ! nae sic a dog insults me in my 
ain hoose ! Let me get but ae whack at him, lad ! ” 

No — no, grandfather ! you must not so much as 
touch him. Goodman Gunwad, please leave this 
house at once. Grandfather is an old man and so 
broken down as not to be himself. When he has 
recovered from the excitement your visit has given 
him we will talk with you. But now, please spare 
him.” 

Norman’s appearance had been so sudden and 
unexpected that the two men in the doorway had 
not yet comprehended the situation, while it was 
not until he had finished speaking that the deer 
reeve recovered sufficiently to say a word. Then he 
exclaimed, in his blustering way : 

‘‘ So — so, my Scotch bantam ! so ye pick up th’ 
quarrel ? Jest lay a hand on me ef ye wanter. I 
kem hyur peaceful to ask th’ ol’ furriner when he 
was goin’ to git out’n my house, and he flew at me 
like a cat. Be keerful how ye use me,” retreating 
a step, as Norman started forward, showing by his 
manner that he had no fear for the other. Here, 
Holster, Lawton, don’t let the hot-headed Scotch- 
men kill me. They air two to one.” 

I am not going to lay a hand on you, Goodman 
Gunwad, if you will go your way peacefully,” said 
Norman, as the deer reeve’s companions advanced 
into the centre of the room. 


GUN WAD TAKES DECISIVE ACTION. I51 

“ It’s ernough thet ye hev threatened me, an’ I 
can prove it. I order you, Holster and Lawton, to 
take th’ ripscallion off. The sooner these furriners 
air driven out o’ Tyngstown th’ better ’twill be fer 
all honest people.” 

“You shall not lay a hand on grandfather,” cried 
Norman, as the man called Holster again moved 
forward. “ If grandfather has offered to do one of 
you harm it was because you drove him to it. I — ” 
“Bah!” exclaimed Gunwad, “I ain’t foolin’ 
round hyur fer nothin’. Pull ’em both — ” 

Though no one had heard the approach of a new- 
comer, a shadow at that moment fell across the 
pathway of the irate deer reeve, and he stopped in 
the midst of his excited speech as the stalwart figure 
of the Woodranger confronted him. 

“ So you are stirring a bit o’ an amazement. Gun- 
wad } ” demanded the forester, sternly. “ Sich 
conduct on your part seems ill-timed to me, who is 
not an adept in the wanton ways o’ men. What 
would you have with this old man and the lad ? ” 

“ I want ’em to git out’n my house I I jes’ come 
civil like, armed with proper authority, and this 
youngster has sassed me and th’ ol’ man has tried 
to club me. I can prove it by my friends here.” 

“No matter about that. Did my ears hear aright, 
or was it the whispering o’ a pine, which said that 
this is your abode ? ” 


152 


THE WOODRAHGER. 


I said plain ernough thet this is my house ! I 
own this lot, seein’ I come into fair possession by 
law. I bought it of one of the grantees of Tyng 
Township, of which this is a part. There was no 
trouble till those ’demned furriners kem hyur.” 

Easy, Gunwad, easy ! When you talk o’ furri- 
ners you hit us all on the head. It is only the poor 
red man who can say that, and not many o’ them, 
seeing the way we’ve kicked ’em from our path, as 
we would dead leaves. It is them as have reason 
to complain.” 

‘‘Ye know well ernough what I mean, Woodranger. 
It’s these miserable Scotch intruders.” 

“ Who got here afore you did, Gunwad. It may 
be, without wishing to be other than neutral in a 
flame which should never have been kindled, that I 
have — ” 

“ How long has it been sence ye hev sided with 
these dogs } ” broke in the deer reeve. “ So ye hev 
been a snake in — ” 

“Be keerful, Gunwad ! ” warned the forester, this 
last statement being more than he could listen to in 
silence. “ Be keerful and not awaken an old man’s 
ire. A snake in the grass, never ! I seek no quarrel 
with man, and I find none in the free domain o’ 
natur’. It is only where the contentions o’ civilisa- 
tion come that men get at cross purposes. I ’low 
that wild creeturs fight, but that should be a lesson 


GUNWAD TAITES DECISIVE ACTION. 1 53 

to man and not an example. Don’t you so much as 
lay a finger on the old man, Gunwad, or I shall for- 
get my prudence.” 

Woodranger showed that he was making a mighty 
effort to keep his feelings under control, while he 
appeared unusually excited. Gunwad feared him, 
and yet with his two companions behind him, and, 
what he considered of greater benefit, the law, he 
tried to think he had nothing to fear. Happily for 
him, the man named Lawton came to his assistance 
at that moment. 

‘‘You forget the notice I have to read, Gunwad. 
Perhaps that will bring them to their senses.” 

“Yes, read the document, Lawton,” said Gunwad, 
with a look of relief. “ Mebbe that will bring ’em 
to their senses.” 

By this time Lawton had produced from his pocket 
a formidable-looking paper, which he quickly unfolded 
and began to read : 

“‘At a meeting of the Proprietors of Tyng 
Township, so called, regularly warned and assembled 
at the house of Mr. Isaac Farwell, Innholder, in 
Dunstable, the 21st of August, 1740: 

“ ‘ Voted that those persons whose lands in said 
township and part of the original Proprietary are 
trespassed upon, or are possessed by any person 
claiming .them under grant from New Hampshire, 
shall within three months from this meeting prose- 


154 


THE WOODRANGER. 


cute such persons, who are and be deprived for the 
future of any benefit or assistance from the Proprie- 
tary in the defence or recovery of any such lands. 

‘‘ ‘ Also voted that Messrs. Ephraim Hildreth, 
William Lawton, and Joseph Blanchard be a Commit- 
tee fully empowered and directed at the charge of 
this Proprietary (by taking a legal owner) to assist 
in suing and defending in any action commenced 
or to be commenced of trespass or ejectment for or 
against any person or persons in trial of the title or 
trespass, as aforesaid, on any land belonging to the 
Proprietary or grantee. Thereof said Committee, or 
any one of them, are directed also at the cost of 
the Proprietary that if Proprietor, as aforesaid, be 
arrested and carried into the Province of New 
Hampshire ^ by any writ or process for improving on 
their lands there to redeem them from such arrests 
or arrest, and to take a power of attorney to appear 
in their names to prosecute and defend in any matter, 
jointly or severally according to the whole tenor of 
this vote. 

^ Ephraim Hildreth, 

“ ' [Signed] ‘‘ ‘ William Lawton, 

‘Joseph Blanchard.’ ” 

“ What d’ye think o’ thet ? ” demanded Gunwad, 
triumphantly, as the other finished reading. “I 
* Tyng Township was claimed to belong to Massachusetts. 


GUNWAD TAKES DECISIVE ACTIOK. 155 

reckon thet settles matters at one clip. I’ve got the 
province o’ Massachusetts and good King George 
the Second behind me.” 

It is not for me, who is better varsed in the 
open ways o’ the free woods to dissemble, Gunwad, 
and I must confess that the course taken by the new 
town is most ill considered. I’m afeerd they will 
see disappointment soon, and have reason to regret 
such thoughtless — ” 

Air ye a fool or crazy, Woodranger } We’ll hev 
every furriner out o’ Tyngstown inside a year. Thet 
new law jes’ fixes every one o’ ’em, and I ain’t goin’ to 
let my chance slip. I shall hev to ax ye to step one side.” 

** Not to allow you to harm a hair on the head o’ 
this old, innocent man, who never wronged — ” 

So ye Stan’ in fer him .!* Holster and Lawton, 
take keer o’ him an’ I’ll throw th’ ol’ ripscallion out ! ” 
It was a critical moment. Norman felt that a 
fight was coming. Robert MacDonald showed it by 
the wild light in his eye and the look of stern deter- 
mination upon his countenance, as he drew his tall 
figure up until he fairly towered, like a blazing col- 
umn, above Gunwad. Fearing the worst, Norman 
gently pushed Rilma to a safer distance, while he 
moved nearer his grandfather. 

The bronzed features of the Woodranger suddenly 
lost their look of wonted calm. With his habitual 
swift but silent movement he glided to the side of 


156 


THE WOODRANGER. 


the deer reeve, the fingers of his left hand closed 
on Gunwad’s long nose, and before that worthy 
could realise what was taking place he was led to 
the door. Then, fairly lifted from his feet, he was 
sent several yards away, where he fell in a heap on 
the ground. Before his companions could interfere, 
if they had any intention of doing so, the forester 
turned toward them, pointing without a word in the 
direction of the door. 

I have no quarrel with you, Woodranger,” said 
Lawton, beginning to retreat. Come, Holster, let’s 
get out of this.” 

Without further words the two joined Gun wad, 
who, as he regained his feet, shook his fist at the 
house, saying : 

“Ye shall pay dearly fer this, Woodranger. Ye’re 
a traitor, and every man in Tyngstown shall know it. 
Ez fer ye, ye oF Scotch dunderhead, ye shall be driven 
out o’ Tyngstown with a withewood at yer heels.” 

The Woodranger was trembling from head to foot, 
but he offered no reply, saying to himself rather 
than to any one else : 

“Man’s consait is beyond comprehension. Ill 
fares it with him who loses command o’ himself. I 
much fear me I’ve committed an indiscretion. The 
babbling creetur’ did arouse me more than I knew. 
Well, alack ! I’m not overmuch pleased with myself. 
Man never knows his weakness till he lets his temper 


GUNWAD TAKES EEC/S/VE ACTION 1 57 

overrule his jedgment. I very much fear I’ve com- 
mitted an indiscretion.” 

‘‘ Are the dolts a’ awa’, Norman, ma laddie ” 
asked Mr. MacDonald, still trembling from the 
effect of his recent excitement. 

‘‘Yes, grandfather, and let us hope they will not 
come back.” 

“ They will, ma laddie, mark an auld man’s words. 
Sir,” addressing the Woodranger, “I like the wey 
ye handled th’ auld skellum, only I wad hae liked tae 
hae had my ain fingers in the place o’ yours.” 

“ I very much fear me I have committed an indis- 
cretion, and that my fingers pinched a bit harder 
than I knew. But he vexed me exceedingly. I 
hope you will not suffer for my indiscretion.” 

“ We wish to thank you, Woodranger,” said Nor- 
man, “ for helping us get rid of the men. Do you 
think Gunwad can really drive us away } ” 

“ I’ll warrant he will not without some stern 
opposition. This trouble between the two factions 
of settlers is an amazement no man can read, though 
I am of the opinion the end is nearer than most 
calculate. My advice, and such offering cannot be 
counted high on account o’ its commonness, is not 
to let the varmint give you a worry.” 

“Oh, kind sir,” cried Rilma, “is it such a dread- 
ful thing to be a refugee } You are an honest man 
and you will tell me truly.” 


158 


THE WOODRANGER, 


“ Nay, my bonnie lass, let not your heart run away 
with your jedgment, as. my temper did with mine. 
You are too young and too gentle to let such matters 
trouble your pretty head. But I will say this much, 
and I have no wish to dissemble, that it is seldom 
a term of dishonour. He who wears it lightest wears 
it best. For that matter we’re all refugees, my 
bonnie lass, and can only make the best o’ it.” 

<< What ! maun ye gang awa’ sae soon, maister, an’ 
withoot givin’ us yer name } ” asked the old High- 
lander. If I mistake not you’re ca’d Woodranger, 
but I fain wad ca’ ye by a dearie name.” 

“No name is so dear to man as that he bears 
amid the scenes he loves best. That race, which 
is seldom at fault in such things, deemed it suited 
to me. I have no desire to exchange it for another. 
Nay, ol’ man, it has stood by me many a year and 
it must remain until the eend. 01’ Danger would 
lose his faith in me, and my foot would lose its 
lightness, should I change it now,” and shaking his 
head, he moved swiftly and silently away. 

“ I dinna read, I dinna read him ! ” muttered Mr. 
MacDonald, shaking his own head, as he watched 
the forester out of sight. 

“ He is brave and kind-hearted,” said Norman, 
warmly. “ I cannot help liking him.” 

Then their conversation naturally turned upon the 
deer reeve and his companion, even Norman being 


GUNWAD TAKES DECISIVE ACTION. 1 59 

obliged to acknowledge that their visit meant them 
trouble if not serious harm. To give up their home 
was a sacrifice which seemed too great to be met. 
At any rate, they resolved to wait and see what Gun- 
wad’s next movement would be toward evicting them. 

Day after day, however, passed without any 
change in the situation, as far as they knew. Gun- 
wad had not reappeared, but what his silence boded 
them was more than they could foresee. Perhaps he 
had some deeper laid scheme, which was requiring 
further time to perfect. It might be he had given up 
his intentions, though they could not believe that. 

The real cause of the prolonged delay was not 
from any willingness on the part of Gunwad, but 
rather a natural necessity arising from the slow 
methods of law. Among the early settlers of New 
England there were few who understood the prin- 
ciples or the workings of legal force, and thus the 
jurisdiction of courts was limited. The few judges 
who had been invested with power to sit upon suits 
were generally men without any legal education to 
prepare them for their perplexing duties. Thus 
there was no system or harmony in their rulings, 
and the inhabitants were commonly compelled to 
apply to the General Assembly, which assumed and 
exercised jurisdiction in imitation of the English 
Parliament, as a Court of Errors and Chancery. So 
the deer reeve was obliged to prepare a petition and 


i6o 


THE WOODRANGER. 


send it to Boston, that it might in its order be 
placed before the proper officials. 

While he was fretting and fuming over the slow 
process of law, his intended victims were gradually 
forgetting his threat, and Norman, who was still 
working for Mr. Stark, became greatly interested in 
the proposed canoe match. Though of frequent 
occurrence on the frontier, a boat race never failed 
to arouse a keen and wide-spread interest, being 
second only to a trial with arms. This trial, planned 
by the youth of Harrytown, was of greater novelty 
than usual, and sure to awaken more than ordinary 
rivalry. In fact, owing to the opposing spirits ex- 
isting among these colonists, old as well as young 
could talk of little else. 

Norman McNiel, Robert Rogers, and William 
Stark were unanimously selected to represent the 
Scotch-Irish settlers, while Johnny Goffe, William 
Tyng, and James Hazard made up the English crew. 
It is needless to say that both sides began at once 
to practise earnestly. 

During one of these careful trainings on the part 
of Norman and his companions, they were delighted 
to see the Woodranger paddling swiftly and silently 
down the stream. 

“ Let’s watch him, and perhaps we can learn 
something from him. Woodranger, you know, is 
considered the best paddler in these parts.” 


GUN WAD TAKES DECISIVE ACTION. l6l 

To the general spectator there is something fasci- 
nating in the way a boat glides through the silvery 
water under the propulsion of an expert oarsman. 
And if this is true of the clumsy boat, the fascination 
is doubled and trebled at the sight of the birchen 
craft of the Indian, which seems to skim the cur- 
rent without touching, — to fly without wings ! As 
Billy Stark had said, the Woodranger was not 
equalled in the use of the paddle. His canoe was 
of Indian make, about eighteen feet long, and built 
from the winter bark of the white birch, which is 
tougher than that of the summer. His smooth, 
wide-bladed paddle was of the clearest poplar, *^as 
light as a feather and as strong as ironwood.” In 
his skilful handling it touched the water without 
making a sound, each stroke sending his frail bark 
yards on its course. 

The forester had seen the young canoeists, and it 
wasn’t long before he sped alongside of them. 

<‘A fine evening for your practice, lads, which 
I hope my coming will not check. In my humble 
opinion you will need all the benefit you can get 
from such trials.” 

We are right glad you have come. Wood- 
ranger,” said Billy Stark, who seemed inclined 
to do the talking, “and we want you to give us 
a lesson.” 

“Nay, nay, lads, that I cannot do! I have no 


262 


THE WOODRANGER. 


desire to dissemble in this amazement, and I am free 
to confess that I am neutral in the quarrel hanging 
over this affair. It would be ill-advised for me to 
lend counsel or assistance even to my friends.” 

“ Do you think the Cohas boys are going to beat 
us ” asked Billy, showing disappointment at the 
forester’s reply. 

It is not my knack to be able to tell you, seeing 
there are true lads at Goffe’s. I can tell you that 
nothing is ever lost in being prepared to do your 
best. It isn’t so much what you can do individually, 
as what you are able to do all together. I see Rob 
has the bow paddle, Billy the middle, and Norman 
the stern. In my humble opinion, that shows good 
jedgment. Your craft is a good one, its brown 
colour showing that it is made of winter bark, and 
your paddles appear to be clean ash. I prefer 
poplar, which is lighter and less inclined to spring, 
but that is only an old man’s whim. It all lies with 
you ; good evening,” and, without further words, the 
Woodranger sped away as silently as he had come. 

Funny he couldn’t give us just a hint!” said 
Billy. 

It seems to me he did give us two hints, which 
may be the winning of the victory for us. Let us be 
prepared to do our best, and to work together. Let 
that be our key-note. Now, boys, together I ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE CANOE MATCH. 

It was a still September day, — an ideal day for 
the canoe match. The sky had taken on that pecul- 
iar sapphire hue so common to the season. Never 
had the limpid current of the Merrimack shone 
clearer along the two-mile course where it moved 
with sluggish motion toward the Falls of Namaske. 
If the day was ideal, so was this portion of the 
sparkling stream an ideal track for the light barks of 
the rival canoeists. 

At a point where a bend in the bank curved 
sharply toward the west, cutting in twain the beach 
of white sand, a crowd of spectators had gathered to 
witness the great event of the autumn. A dozen 
feet above these twin knots of anxious watchers, 
standing on a wide, smooth breadth of land, — a 
natural terrace, — were twice their numbers. Under 
the giant pines, rearing their straight trunks from 
seventy-five to one hundred feet into the air without 
a branch to mar their symmetry, and tufted at the 
top with oval masses of foliage, the view was extended 
163 


THE WOODRANGER. 


164 

and beautiful. A hundred yards to the rear the 
ground ascended abruptly in a far-reaching hill, which 
was covered with a heavy growth of trees. 

Not satisfied with such advantages as the others 
had obtained to watch the race, four adventurous 
boys had climbed into the topmost branches of a pine 
growing on the river’s bank, and which some storm 
had so far uprooted as to cause the forest monarch 
to lean far out over the water. Foremost of this 
quartette was Lige Bitlock, for once obliged to leave 
his dog in the background. From this position a 
good view of the river was had for the entire distance 
of the course, so straight does the stream flow at this 
portion of its journey. 

It was now a quarter to two o’clock, and in fifteen 
minutes the race was expected to start. Both parties 
of the rivals were already on the ground, or rather 
water, the observed of all and the subjects of a con- 
tinual flow of running comments. All of the pre- 
liminary arrangements had been made, excepting that 
most important one of selecting a judge. That was 
the exact situation, though in the minds of all a 
unanimous selection had been made by both sides. 
Woodranger was that choice. But the forester for 
some reason had not appeared, and until he came 
and accepted the trust, it could not be said a judge 
had been obtained. No one knew where he was. 
Neither was it certain he would come at all. In that 


THE CANOE MATCH 


165 

dilemma Captain Goffe was expected to decide the 
match. It was generally understood that he would 
not accept if the Woodranger came. So you see 
that while the judge was really chosen, no one knew 
who he would be. 

In this anxious delay, though the time set had not 
fully arrived, the onlookers, as they generally do, got 
impatient. The two committees were besieged with 
questions. 

It was to be a three-mile race, the canoeists going 
up-stream a mile, and turning and going down-stream 
a mile below the starting-place. This rather unusual 
way of conducting the match had been decided upon 
from a wish to give the spectators the best possible 
opportunity to witness the trial. Both teams were 
claimed to be in fine condition, and certainly every- 
thing else was in their favour. 

Naturally, none were more impatient for the match 
to open than the contestants, who had paddled to 
positions nearly opposite the spectators, and were 
discussing the prospect in whispers among them- 
selves. 

Do you think we shall win } ” asked Billy Stark, 
who was a little nervous over the trying situation. 

“Let us think so until we are fairly beaten,” re- 
plied Norman. “ Remember very much depends on 
the last mile. Don’t get winded going up the 
stream. If Johnny does get ahead of us, don’t let 


THE WOODRANGER. 


1 66 

that fact discourage you. It is the last part that 
counts.” 

‘‘And be careful how you drop your paddle,” said 
Robert Rogers, who was not inclined to talk much 
on occasions like that. “You must not get ahead 
of Mac and me. Remember, Billy, that we must 
move exactly together.” 

“ Ay, you remember those were the last words of 
Woodranger,” said Norman. 

“I wonder where the old fellow is,” commented 
Billy. “ I believe I could do better if he were here. 
I had rather he would be judge than Captain Goffe. 
It doesn’t seem right to have Johnny’s father to 
decide a race in which his own boy is captain.” 

“That is why Captain Goffe does not like to 
accept. Captain Blanchard was asked, but he said 
he couldn’t be here. What is that cheering for } ” 

Until then the crowds had been silent, but now a 
lusty cheer was given by those on the terrace, though 
the spectators below them remained quiet. The 
cause of the outburst was soon explained by the 
appearance of Captain Blanchard, who had been seen 
by those from their elevated position before their 
companions. 

“I had rather he would be umpire than Goffe,” 
declared young Rogers. 

Meanwhile a conversation of somewhat similar 
nature, though varied to suit the desires of the rival 


THE CANOE MATCH. 


167 


crew, had been carried on. It is, perhaps, needless 
to say that the Cohas boys were as confident of 
winning the match as their opponents. The specta- 
tors seemed about equally divided in their favours 
and hopes. 

“ I tell you what it is, Mac, I’ll wager my first 
fall pelt that the Namaske boys are going to whip 
’em others ! ” exclaimed a tall, bony looker-on, whose 
appearance showed plainly his place of nativity. 

‘‘ Ne’er fear o’ my taking ye up, Archie, though 
it do seem Goffe’s crew air in deadly ’arnest,” re- 
plied a companion. 

An’ going to bite vict’ry right out o’ th’ Scotch 
boys’ teeth ! ” exclaimed a third. ‘‘ I’ll take yer bet, 
Archie, ef McPherson daresn’t ! ” 

“ Done ! ” was the quick rejoinder of the first 
speaker. I’m sure o’ doubling my game.” 

‘‘Th’ Goffes were never beaten!” interjected 
another. “ See whut a breadth o’ chist Johnny has. 
Jis’ like his father. An’ sich forearms I Then there’s 
Jimmy! Jimmy’s going to last till th’ last stroke. 
Ah, Cap’n Goffe knowed who to pick. With him 
fer judge we’re sure.” 

“ Avaunt wi’ yer nonsense ! Whut’s Johnny 
Goffe’s brawn compared to young McNiel’s arm } 
Mac can take one in each hand an’ flip their heels 
togither. Whut’s Johnny’s craft compared to Robby 
Rogers’s cunning ? Robby is Woodranger’s favourite 


i68 


THE WOODRANGER. 


and trained in his ways. Them two air th’ boys fer 
me, — the boys who made th’ handsomest shots at 
th’ Pines. But whut air th’ committees doing now } 
Why be they buzzing Cap’n Blanchard so ? ” 

The committees, aided by Captain Goffe, were 
urging Captain Blanchard to accept the position of 
judge of the race, when a louder cheering than any 
before broke upon the scene, the wild cries pro- 
longed into a series of huzzas which rang far and 
wide up and down the river. Nor had they far to 
look for the explanation, for a canoe, skimming the 
water with bird-like swiftness, and holding the well- 
known figure of the Woodranger, was to be seen near 
at hand. 

The chairman of the committee at once beckoned 
to the forester, who sped his light craft near to the 
anxious group. 

You’re the one we’ve been looking and waiting 
for, Woodranger. We want you to act as judge of 
the match. You’re better versed in canoeing than 
any of us, and you’re just the one to decide the 
race.” 

To the surprise and disappointment of all, the for- 
ester shook his head. 

I durst not do it, man, I durst not do it. Varsed 
in the ways o’ dipping a paddle I may be, and though 
it be not proper for me to say it, I may have picked 
up the knack o’ the red man’s cunning. But there 


THE CANOE MATCH. 


169 


be personal p’ints in this matter, which would make 
it an indiscretion for me to meddle. I might be 
accused, and mind you I say not without reason, o’ 
partiality. Robby, you mus’ remember, is my pupil 
in the great school o’ natur’. And the lad, McNiel, 

— but I need not detail my mind. They’re six likely 
lads, and I love and respect them all. I thought 
mebbe I’d sort o’ trail along behind, and if anything 

— mind you, I say if anything unforeseen does hap- 
pen, — not that I’m expecting it, — I’ll be near to 
lend a helping hand. More’n that I durst not under- 
take. I cannot dissemble ; I’m neutral in this 
matter.” 

Understanding that it would be useless to urge 
the Woodranger to do what his judgment did not 
dictate, the committee then pressed Captain Blan- 
chard to accept the trust. The latter did not hesitate, 
after finding that their first choice could not be 
pressed into service. His acceptance was very 
agreeable to both sides, for though the Proprietors’ 
clerk of Tyng Township at the time, he was known 
to be always fair in his dealings with both factions. 

No sooner was this decision reached than Chair- 
man Hall jumped upon a handy stump, and shouted 
so as to be heard by every one : 

Arrangements completed. ’Squire Blanchard will 
decide the race. Are you in the canoes ready for 
the word ? ” 


THE WOODRANGER. 


170 

Ready ! ” rang out the word in six voices, as if 
spoken by one, falling clearly on the profound 
silence which had now bound the spectators. 

« Ready it is, then. Time! One, two, three — 
go!” 

So well had the starter timed himself that it was 
exactly two o’clock by Captain Blanchard’s watch as 
the signal was given. 

As one the six paddles dropped into the water, 
and side by side the two canoes shot up the stream, 
while loud, prolonged cheers from the spectators 
made the woods ring. 

“It were a fair start and above discussion,” said 
the Woodranger to himself, as he sent his light bark 
in the silvery track of the rival canoes. “I’m afeerd 
Robby has set a stroke that’ll puzzle ’em to hold to 
the eend. Three miles ain’t like spinning a few 
yards for fun. But, Lordy’s me ! how I do take on, 
and the race only begun.” 

It was a beautiful sight to witness, to see the six 
paddles rise and fall with such automatic precision 
that they seemed to be moved by machinery, while 
the heads and bodies of the rowers rose and sank 
with equal regularity. After the first outburst the 
crowds again became silent, and, except the splash 
of a paddle now and then, as one of the rowers 
failed to feather the edge as he wished, not a sound 
broke the stillness of the autumn air. 


7'HE CANOE MATCH. 


171 

But it was soon evident that the boys of Cohas 
were gaining on the others. At first the spectators 
were in some doubt of this, but it soon became cer- 
tain, even to the most skeptical. Renewed cheering 
was then begun, though only the friends of the 
English boys now did the shouting. 

What’d I tell ye ! ” cried an overzealous admirer. 
‘‘Johnny Goffe is sure to come in ahead. Hurrah 
for the boys o’ Cohas ! ” 

Others took up the cry, until it rang far and wide, 
encouraging the three from the lower settlement to 
greater exertions. Woodranger, hearing the cries and 
realising the situation, shook his head. 4, 

Straight as a bee-line did the canoes speed up the 
river toward the buoy in the middle of the stream, 
around which they were expected to pass and then 
return to the goal two miles down the watery course. 
The boys of Cohas were showing themselves to be 
of true metal, as well they might and should, for 
the work they were destined to perform in later 
years. Every one of the three earned a name that for 
border sagacity and intrepidity still lives in colonial 
history. Johnny Goffe, well worthy of the name of 
his father, who trained John Stark in the manual of 
arms and was General Sullivan’s master of tactics, 
sufficient honour for one, to say nothing of his own 
proud career, had set the stroke for his crew ; and 
if it was begun at a tremendous pace, he showed no 


1/2 


THE WOODRANGER. 


signs of faltering, as slowly, inch by inch, yard by 
yard, they continued to gain on their rivals. At the 
turning-point, as they swung silently and swiftly 
around the buoy, the boys of Cohas were three 
canoe lengths in the lead ! 

Some of the spectators had followed as near as 
they could in canoes, while others had tried to keep 
the race in sight by running along the bank. Fore- 
most of all flew the Woodranger, casting furtive 
glances, ever and anon, toward the rivals. 

The boys of Cohas have turned the buoy four 
rods ahead ! ” some one shouted, and others catching 
up the cry, it rang from throat to throat, until it was 
heard from start to finish. 

“ The boys of Cohas lead — the race is theirs ! 
Hurrah for the Tyng boys ! Hurrah for Johnny 
Goffe ! ” 

If the latter was getting the lion’s share of the 
praise, he was the coolest of the trio. 

“ Well done, my hearties ! ” he cried, as they sent 
the canoe head down the stream. It will be easier 
now, and we ought to win ! ” 

<‘We will!” exclaimed Jimmy Hazard, from be- 
tween his clenched teeth. But, while he would not 
own it to himself, he was sorely tried with the long 
up-pull. 

If the boys of Namaske felt any undue anxiety, 
they did not show it, but continued to rush ahead 


THE CANOE MATCH. 173 

with a stroke which their rivals did not equal for 
precision and silence. 

“They handle their paddles like Indians,” said the 
Woodranger to himself, paying them the highest 
compliment he could. But shaking his head, he 
resumed, “ I have strange misgivings. I hope they 
have not committed an indiscretion by letting the 
others get so far ahead of them. No — no ! it cannot 
be. Alack ! how childish I am getting to be.” 

Now that the canoes had turned the upper end of 
the course, there was a scramble on the part of the 
spectators to get where they could best witness the 
close struggle they believed must take place on 
the last quarter. Captain Blanchard, in a canoe, 
had already stationed himself where he could com- 
mand a close view of the finish, the critical point in 
the trial. 

The boys of Cohas, confident of victory, and with 
the strength such confidence gives, were still send- 
ing their canoe gliding over the water at an amazing 
rate of speed, their friends now continually urging 
them on with exultant cries. 

Neither were the boys of Namaske idle. They 
realised that it would not do for them to allow their 
rivals to gain another foot, and as they swept around 
the buoy they quickened their, movements, soon 
lessening the distance between them and the others. 
So closely were the spectators watching them, that 


174 


THE WOODRANGER. 


even the fraction gained was noticed, and the Scotch- 
Irish improved their opportunity to cheer. But their 
cries were drowned by renewed yells from the others, 
who felt that the honours belonged to them. 

‘‘Robby has a good arm for a lad o’ his age,” 
soliloquised the Woodranger, as he witnessed the 
spurt of those whom it was plain he favoured in 
spite of his wish to remain neutral ; “ but he’s too 
young to hold out to the eend. I’m much afeerd — 
alack a man ! why will I fill my ol’ mind with sich 
foolishness. They are all likely lads, and the best 
must win.” 

As one better versed in canoeing, as well as in 
all phases of wildwood life, Norman had gladly con- 
sented to allow Robby Rogers, though younger than 
himself, to be the leader of their crew ; but now he 
was beginning to think the boy ranger was making 
a mistake in not giving their rivals a closer pull . at 
the outset. It was true he felt as fresh as at the 
opening, but of what avail would be all of their 
reserved energy if they delayed too long the effort 
to recover the distance they had lost.? Certainly it 
would soon be too late for them to hope to gain the 
victory. Filled with these thoughts, he said, in a low 
tone, but plainly heard by the others : 

“ Has not the time come for us, Rob ? ” 

The reply came in a clear tone : 

Quicker — deeper, lads ! ” 


THE CANOE MATCH. 


175 


Then something of the reserved strength of the 
three was brought into action. The paddles flashed 
forth a continual stream of sunlight, while the silvery 
trail behind the flying canoe was unbroken for a long 
distance. Their friends on the river bank, realising 
the change, gave an encouraging cheer. This was 
drowned, however, by the shouts of the Tyngs party, 
who seemed determined to do all the applauding. 

Johnny Goffe caught something of the meaning of 
this new outburst on the part of the Cohas party, 
and he endeavoured to arose his companions to still 
more effective work. Then, for the first time, 
he learned that his crew had begun to feel the 
effect of their overtasked strength. But this did 
not disconcert him. With the advantage they had 
already won, it was only necessary for them to hold 
their own now. He never doubted their ability to do 
that. 

It was a beautiful sight to see the rival canoes 
skimming the silvery current like twin birds, the 
swift-moving paddles looking not unlike the white 
wings of a pair of snowy swans. If the friends of 
the boys of Namaske boasted that their ■ champions 
had begun to gain on the Cohas crew, the admirers 
of the latter claimed that it was not enough to give 
them any alarm. The Woodranger, than whom no 
one had watched the contest closer, or with nicer 
calculation, knew that half a canoe’s length had 


1/6 


THE WOODRANGER. 


been taken from the gap lying between the two 
crafts. 

Two-thirds of the distance had now been made, 
and both crews were apparently doing their best. 
Slowly but surely the boys of Namaske were over- 
hauling the others. As this became certain, all 
cheering ended, as if the situation was now too 
momentous for any display of feeling, and every 
one stood in silence, intently watching the race. 
With the skill and rapidity which seemed to be a 
sort of second nature to him, the Woodranger was 
keeping almost abreast of the rivals, when he thus 
was the first to see the disaster which befel the rear 
crew. 

Suddenly, as Billy Stark plied his paddle with 
increasing power, a sharp crack, sounding like the 
report of a firearm, rang loud and clear, and he 
reeled over as if shot, and fell in the bottom of 
the canoe. Nearly every spectator thought he had 
been shot, and cries of horror were heard in every 
direction. 

But there had been no gunshot, no foul play, as 
far as any person was concerned. Instead, an acci- 
dent had occurred almost as disastrous, as far as the 
match seemed concerned. His paddle had snapped 
asunder under his great exertions, sending him upon 
his back at the feet of his companions. 

The frail bark careened, and as Norman and Rob 


THE CANOE MATCH. 


177 


realised the disaster to their assistant, both felt that 
their hopes were lost. In the face of such odds they 
could not hope to win. 

It’s no use, — our race is over ! ” gasped Rob. 
He had hardly given utterance to the hopeless words, 
when a clarion voice rang over the water, crying : 

The brave never give up ! ” 

It was the Woodranger who uttered the stirring 
declaration, and the words came like an inspiration 
to Norman McNiel, who quickly rallied, saying to his 
companion : 

‘‘ Don’t give up, Rob ! We must win ! ” 

It was fortunate then they were comparatively as 
fresh as at the outset. The exertions of the race so 
far had only served to temper the vigour in their 
strong limbs. Rob Rogers instantly threw off his 
fears, and, himself again, he handled his paddle as 
he had never done before. Norman had already set 
the example, and as if the strength of two Billy 
Starks had been imparted to their arms, they sent 
the canoe ahead like an arrow sprung from a bow 
with giant power. Before the spectators had recov- 
ered from their surprise enough to realise what had 
taken place, the two boys had covered half of the 
distance between them and their rivals. 

It was true it was now two against three, but 
they seemed possessed of the strength of four. The 
scene which followed held the onlookers dumb with 


78 


THE WOODRANGER, 


wonder. In his excitement Lige Bitlock climbed so 
far out on his perch that the branch beneath him 
broke with a loud snap, sending him headforemost 
into the water. But no one heeded his cries or 
appeals for help, while he floundered in the river. 
Every eye and every thought was concentrated on 
a more stirring sight. 

Johnny Goffe heard’ and realised enough to know 
that something had befallen his opponents, but he 
felt that it must have been to their advantage, for 
he found that they were gaining on him faster than 
ever. 

They must not — they shall not beat us ! he 
cried. ‘‘ On, Jimmy, Willy, win or die ! ” 

It was a stirring appeal, but Jimmy Hazard was 
too worn out to rally successfully, while his compan- 
ions lacked the iron will and reserved strength of the 
sturdy limbs of Norman McNiel and Robert Rogers. 
Swifter and swifter this couple sent their light craft 
onward toward the goal, gaining on their rivals at 
every bite of the paddles. Nearer and nearer they 
flew, foot by foot, yard by yard, until they were now 
abreast ! 

But both were now down close to the finish line. 
The Tyngs spectators still believed and hoped that 
their champions could hold their own for the short 
distance left. 

Hold ’em a jiffy, Johnny ! ” yelled an excited 


THE CANOE MATCH. 


179 

Hurrah for 


onlooker. ‘‘Don’t let ’em get ahead, 
the boys of Cohas ! ” 

The other side was silent, breathless, during that 
brief interval of fearful suspense. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE FALL HUNT. 

With the cries of frenzied spectators ringing in 
their ears, with such wild energy in their limbs as 
they had never known, Norman and Rob sent their 
canoe ahead of the boys of the Cohas. The next 
moment they crossed the line four yards in the lead 
of their rivals. 

The boys of Namaske had won ! What cheering 
followed ! Never was such a scene witnessed on 
the banks of the Merrimack River, never, unless in 
the unwritten history of the red men some such race 
had been made and won by the dusky champions 
of the birchen skiff. The Scotch-Irish shouted 
until they were hoarse, and shouted still, when 
hardly an articulate sound left their lips. Let it 
be said to their credit, the Tyng colonists acted a 
most generous part. 

Johnny Goffe was the first to clasp the hands of 
his successful rivals, expressing his honest congratu- 
lations. 

‘‘And to think,” said the humiliated Billy Stark, 
i8o 


THE FALL HUNT. l8l 

‘‘they did it without, me. No, Johnny, I deserve 
none of your praise. That miserable paddle of mine 
broke like a pine limb in the midst of it, when I was 
needed most. Woodranger told me that knot would 
sometime spoil it, but I thought I knew better than 
the old man, with all his cunning. I am sorry, Nor- 
man, Rob, that I failed so, but honestly it was no 
fault of mine.” 

“We know it, Billy,” said Rob. “ But candidly I 
think we did better than we could have done if you 
had not broken your paddle. Do you know that put 
such strength into my arm as I had never felt 
before. It seems to require some great crisis to 
bring out a feller to his best.” 

“That and Woodranger’s words,” said Norman. 
“Do you know, Rob, it seemed just as if he had 
given me his strength when he shouted to us. Where 
is he now } ” 

“ Why, there he goes up the river ! What has 
happened.? There is a great commotion going on 
up by the leaning pine.” 

“ Some one is in the river. Looks as though he 
was drowning.” 

“ And there goes Woodranger to save him. He’s 
all right now. Let’s talk some more about the 
match. Don’t you boys feel grand .? ” 

“ Why shouldn’t they .? ” asked a brawny spectator, 
who had elbowed his way down to the river’s bank. 


THE WOODRANGER. 


182 

‘‘ I want to get hold of their hands. Boys,” he con- 
tinued, as he held a hand of each of the victors, I’d 
rather walked a hundred miles than to miss that 
sight.” 

That seemed to be the sentiment of all, even 
among the Tyng colonists. It was noticed that day, 
and Archie Stark commented upon it, that there 
appeared to be less bitter feeling among the younger 
generation than was shown by their parents. 

It shows that this difference of opinion is going 
to wear away,” he declared. 

In the congratulations showered upon him from 
every side, and among them the sweet praise of 
Rilma, Norman ought to have felt proud and satis- 
fied. But there was one who had not come near 
him or Rob, whom he had desired to see at that 
time above all others. That one was the Wood- 
ranger. So he looked and waited for the opportu- 
nity to speak to him, as soon as Lige Bitlock had 
been rescued from his ducking. But no sooner had 
the forester saved the half-drowned boy than he 
disappeared, and no one saw him again that day. 

Somewhat to Norman’s surprise, his grandfather 
had come to witness the match, and he praised him 
as only he could. Probably no one there felt prouder 
of the victory than the old Highlander. 

“Yer a true MacDonald wi’ the best 0’ McNiel,” 
he said. 


THE FALL HUNT. 


183 


After the trial was over the majority of the spec- 
tators lingered about the place, several participating 
in impromptu races on the river. Norman, Rilma, and 
Mr. MacDonald, however, soon sought their home. 

On the whole, the match had passed off satisfac- 
torily, and it was much talked of for many days. No 
one, not even the defeated boys of Cohas, felt worse 
than Billy Stark. But of course no blame was 
attached to him, and in the joy of the others he 
soon forgot the mishap which had robbed him of his 
share of the coveted glory. 

In the month of October, generally during the 
full moon, it was customary for many of the pioneers 
to take what was considered ‘‘the fall hunt,” just as 
the Indians had done before them. Some did this 
from a desire to lay in a stock of meat for the 
winter, and many others from the pleasure they 
found in it. These excursions were not usually 
extended to a great distance on account of the 
plentiful supply of game near home. 

Though this was his second season in the country, 
Norman had not taken one of these trips, which he 
felt must be filled with sport and adventure. He 
had found that his friends, the Scotch-Irish, were 
less inclined, as a rule, to pursue such expeditions. 
But upon speaking his wishes to Rob Rogers, the 
boy ranger, he at once found a congenial spirit. 

“ I have been thinking of the same thing, Mac, 


184 


THE WOODRANGER. 


and I have decided on the direction to go. The rest 
are scurrying toward the Uncannoonucs or up the 
river. We want to go to old Pawtuckaway Moun- 
tain, taking Massabesic Pond on our way. I will 
tell you what else I have been thinking of. Let’s 
ask Woodranger to go with us. He’s the best 
company we could have. And ask the Stark boys 
to go.” 

‘‘Just what I would like to do. I am sure Billy 
and Johnny will be glad to do so. But can we get 
Woodranger 1 I have not seen him since the canoe 
match. Wasn’t it singular he left in the way he 
did > ” 

“To you it may seem so, but to me it was just 
like him. He has been ‘perambulating the woods,’ 
as he calls it, ever since, I dare say. He’ll come in 
soon, and then Pll speak to him about it. I am sure 
he will go with us, so you can make your calculations 
accordingly. 

The boy ranger proved himself a true prophet in 
more ways than one. The very next day the Wood- 
ranger appeared at Goffe’s Falls, and he readily con- 
sented to accompany the boys on the proposed hunt. 
That evening Rob came up to see Norman and tell 
the good news. 

“ I have seen the Stark boys,” said our hero, “and 
they are as anxious to go as we are. Mr. Stark has 
consented, provided Woodranger is to go, and grand- 


THE FALL HUNT. 185 

father has kindly promised that I may be gone four 
days. I can get ready any time the rest can.” 

‘‘Then we’ll start Monday morning, and I predict 
that we’ll have a grand old time. Have you got 
plenty of powder and ball } ” 

“ Plenty of powder, and I will run up some balls 
to-morrow. I suppose we shall want to take some 
skins with us, as a protection from the night air } ” 
“Just a blanket apiece. Don’t want to load down 
with such articles. A blanket, a bough house, a 
sheltered spot in the woods, and you will sleep like 
a bear in winter. 

« ‘ Oh, a rifle good, 

In the merry greenwood, 

And a hunter’s life for me ! ’ ” 

Now that they began to get ready to go, the great- 
est fear of the boys was that a storm might set in at 
the time they wished to start, and last for a week or 
more. But the eventful Monday was ushered in with 
a clear sun. Norman felt more reluctance than he 
had anticipated about leaving home ; but, knowing 
his desire to go, both his grandfather and Rilma 
earnestly desired him to improve the opportunity, 
declaring they would have no difficulty in getting 
along for a few days without him. 

“It’s yersel’ I am worried ower, laddie. Ye maun 
be unco careful. An’ mind ye, laddie, tak the auld 


i86 


TBE WOODRANGER, 


horn. It’ll prove handy, always remembering it was 
that which sounded the ca’ to airms in Glencoe, it 
was that which rallied the lads to battle when the 
Britons swarmed ower us like bees, an’ that which 
sounded the retreat when it was a’ ower wi’ the 
bauld clan. Tak it, laddie; ye’re worthy o’ it.” 

Nothing loath, Norman did as he was requested, 
and kissing Rilma a tender good-bye, and clasping the 
old Highlander’s hand in his, he hastened after his 
companions, who were waiting for him a little below 
the house. 

It was the first time he had met the Woodranger 
since the canoe race, and the forester’s greeting was 
most cordial. 

‘‘Don’t think I am less glad to see you, lad, 
because I ran away that day. I have always noticed 
that the best trait a man has is that o’ caution, and, 
the truth be told, I durst not meet you then. I 
feared me much I had committed a blameful indis- 
cretion in bawling out like a loon, as I did. Tell 
me truly, lad, hast heerd any one speak very bitter 
o’ that indiscretion o’ mine ? ” 

“Not one has mentioned it within my hearing, 
Woodranger. But I want to tell you that it saved 
us the match. We should have given up after 
Billy’s mishap, if you had not spoken as you did.” 

“ I feared it, lads, I did. It seemed a sorry 
amazement to spoil sich a fine race. It pleases me 


THE FALL HUNT. 


187 


much to know people were so considerate o’er my 
foolishness. Aweel, now’s me, lad, we are but weak 
mortals, no stronger in our greatest strength than 
our weakest p’int. It was a handsome race. I’m 
proud o’ sich lads.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


DEER NECK. 

The outfit of the little party was very simple. 
The Woodranger was content with his faithful 
Danger thrown over his shoulder, and plenty of 
ammunition. Of course the boys had been careful 
to take a good supply of powder and ball. The 
Stark boys, at the urgent request of their mother, 
had a bagful of bread and doughnuts, which she 
knew would not come amiss. Johnny had strenu- 
ously opposed this, as he considered it showed a 
weakness on the part of hunters. Each of them, 
excepting the forester, carried a wolf-skin made into 
as small a roll as possible, and fastened on their 
backs. Johnny had objected even to this, but be- 
fore their return he was glad to have heeded a 
mother’s thoughtful interest. 

They left the Falls by the main road leading to 
the centre of the Scotch-Irish settlement, but upon 
reaching the few scattered homes of these pioneers 
the Woodranger plunged boldly into the primeval 
forest, stretching away in every direction farther 

i88 


DEER NECK. 


189 


than the eye could survey, mile on mile of wildwood, 
broken only here and there by some small clearing 
of an adventurous settler. Extending over such a 
vast area, the forests covered mountain and hillside, 
valley and plain, margined the banks of numerous 
ponds, or fringed with overhanging branches innu- 
merable silvery streams. 

Norman, who had not seen as much of wildwood 
life as his companions, felt a strange, awe-inspiring 
sensation on entering deeper and deeper into the 
trackless and sunless region. The Woodranger 
showed that he was in his true element, and it 
was not long before the exuberance of spirit, welling 
up in his heart, as the fountain in the forest finds an 
outlet for its overflowing treasures, sought an escape 
in his rude, philosophical speech : 

Man is nearest human natur’ when alone with 
the works o’ his Creator. I do not have to go to 
the haunts o’ man to find the imprint o’ his hand. 
It is on the forest everywhere. What better evi- 
dence do you want o’ man’s pride than in yon pine, 
which lifts its cap a good fifty feet above the heads 
of its neighbours } What is more typical o’ man’s 
aggressive natur’ than that oak, which claims, and 
holds too, double the sarcuit o’ territory that even 
the proud pine possesses 1 In that silver birch, grow- 
ing by the bank o’ that leetle stream, is the very 
personification 0’ grace and beauty and modesty. 


THE WOODRANGER. 


190 

See how the tiny vines cling to it, as if it were their 
natural mother. I love the birch best o’ all the 
wildwood trees. It may be there are more useful 
ones, and I am mindful of the ash that makes a toler- 
able paddle, and the poplar, better yet. There be 
many others better and more useful, I allow, but 
still I love the birch. 

“ The other day, at the shooting-match, which was 
’p’inted to take place on sacred ground ’cording to 
my idee, I thought o’ the forests then. To him who 
could ’a’ looked down on that mob there was only an 
uneven flooring o’ heads, one looking very much like 
another. But underneath were all kind o’ visages, 
and some were black with hate, and some were white 
with rage ; some wore peaceful looks, and some looks 
o’ trouble and o’ fear. Everywhere was a spirit o’ 
rebellion and extermination o’ the other. Some were 
men o’ intellect and eddication, stalwart o’ figure 
and handsome o’ feature; others were dwafted in 
body, stunted in mind, and poor in the knowledge 
that comes from others’ experience. I pity sich, 
and none more than myself. 

‘‘To him who stands on the mountain and looks 
down on the forest, the sight presents a scene o’ 
many hues, but symmetrical and suggestful o’ quiet 
and repose. But below is a gnarled and tangled 
mass o’ drooping branches, mossy trunks o’ fallen 
trees, stunted undergrowth stifling for the sunlight 


DEER NECK. 


I9I 

o* which it has been robbed, distorted limbs and 
knotted roots that will thrust their forbidding bodies 
into sight, all festooned, here and there, with dra- 
peries o’ ferns and vines reeking with the cold sweat 
o’ their damp environments. Dead trees, like spec- 
tres o’ departed greatness, thrust their skeleton 
arms mutely toward the sunlight, while lean, starved 
trees eke out a miserable existence beside more 
fortunate kindred, which have grown to undue girth, 
just as some men fatten on their relations. An 
asthmatic beech, a consumptive pine, a stunted birch 
live only at the mercy of some big overbearing oak. 

So you see it is continual warfare among the 
trees, — a case o’ the survival o’ the strongest, as it 
is among men. A hundred infant trees have been 
dwarfed and suffocated by this giant pine, which, 
like some big general, will stand lordly and grand 
until the silent axe o’ the gray destroyer shall fell it 
to make room for another, which will grow and fat- 
ten on its decaying carcass. Unnumbered seedlings 
spring each season from the rich mould o’ them which 
have perished afore ’em, and they, too, become food 
for the next generation. Not one in a thousand sur- 
vives in the struggle for the sunlight which means life 
to them, and yet in the grand march o’ ages those 
few have made the innumerable host surrounding us. 

‘‘ I never see one o’ the Massachusetts men with- 
out thinking o’ the tall, haughty, defiant pine, un- 


192 


THE WOODRANGER, 


bending to the strongest blasts, and as changeless 
as the December sky on a moonlit night. The 
Scotch-Irish remind me o’ the stubborn, aggressive 
oak, spreading out its branches where it listeth, 
severe and fearless, but generous and hospitable to 
those who find the way to its heart. The two clans 
o’ trees can never live together, as many other 
species o’ the forest do. 

*‘But forgive me, lads, for running off into this 
sarmon at the outset. You must think me a pretty 
companion to let my foolish tongue lead me sich a 
race. I fear me much my tongue is like a runaway 
brook, for ever babbling o’ what it cannot in reason 
know. I often find myself listening to its lectures, 
when there be none other to hear, unless the trees 
have ears.” 

<‘But your talk is always interesting. You have 
such new ideas.” 

‘‘As old as natur’, lad, as old as natur’.” 

At this juncture, very much to the surprise of 
Norman, they came upon a hard-beaten path, wind- 
ing through the forest. 

“ It is an old Indian trail,” said the Woodranger, 
“ and it leads down to the shore o’ a pond, which we 
shall reach sooner than you now think. Look ! even 
now we ketch a glimmer o’ the water through the 
tree-tops. You see that neck o’ land holding that 
leetle patch o’ earth out into the pond by the throat } 


DEER NECK. 


193 


Weel, that is called Deer Neck. It was a favourite 
drive for the red men, who delighted in chasing the 
deer down here by the dozen, and, having cornered 
’em, kill ’em off at their pleasure. 

‘‘ It was a plan o’ the reds to lop down brushwood 
wherever they found a deer path, until they had 
built an enclosure of considerable extent. They 
were never particular about having the fence 
straight ; in fact, it was better to let it jog as it 
happened. But they were sure to bring the 
ends close together at the mouth, so there was 
leetle chance for the creatur’ to get out once he had 
entered the pound. Some o’ ’em, too, would always 
guard the gap. Inside the grounds was filled with 
hedges and mazes o’ brushwood, while at every cor- 
ner they set snares made o’ deer thongs o’ amazing 
strength. One end o’ the thong was usually made 
fast to a sapling, if one was convanient. If not, a 
loose pole was used, they being keerful to have it 
heavy enough so the deer could not drag it away.” 

^<But with their tools I should have thought it 
would have taken them a lifetime to build such 
a pen.” 

“ Hast seen the beavers work, lad ? These patient 
creatuf’s, with only their teeth for axes, have felled 
some o’ the biggest trees o’ the forest. The indus- 
trious beaver can teach the red man no lesson o’ 
patience. There were many hands, too, you must 


194 


THE WOODRANGER. 


remember, working for the general good and not for 
individual gain, as the whites do. 

The red, too, had a way o’ running down the 
deer, in case he was hunting alone and missed his 
mark. It was a sort o’ unwritten law with ’em that 
if the hunter missed his shot, he must run down the 
creatur’ to save himself from disgrace. So, when 
the frightened deer bounded away, he would give 
one o’ his unyarthly screeches and follow. But he 
knew better than to keep running at first. A moose 
never stops running, once he starts, until he either 
escapes or falls dead in his tracks. But a deer, after 
running a little way and finding it is not pursued, 
will stop to browse. The red knew this, and would 
creep upon his game, and when near enough give 
another yell, which would send the animal on another 
spurt. In this way the red would follow the deer 
for hours, and worry it by these jerky pursuits. It 
would get dry then, and drink its fill of the first pool 
or stream. That would load down its stomach so it 
could no longer make its big jumps, while its runs 
would be shorter. Each stop stiffened its joints. 

“The cunning red, no matter how parched his 
tongue was, would not allow a drop o’ water down 
his throat. Dashing a handful into his face, as he 
crossed some brook, he would keep repeating his 
manoeuvres, until at last the poor hunted brute would 
turn hopelessly at bay. The red then makes short 


DEER NECK. 


195 


work o’ it. Without stopping for the flesh to cool, 
he cuts a piece from behind the fore shoulder, and 
begins to eat it. Neither does he allow himself, in 
his overheated condition, to stand still a minute. 
Slinging as much o’ the carcass as he can well carry 
o’er his shoulder, he starts on a trot to his home. 
He knows if he stops he will soon be too stiff to move. 
It may be he has run a hundred miles in this race. 
Such races generally average fifty miles, though it 
may end near where it started, the bewildered deer 
going in nearly a circle. The endurance o’ the red 
is wonderful. I have known one to run continually 
for twenty-four hours, and kiver every hour from 
four to five miles through a wilderness o’ swamp and 
upland. But here we are at old Massabesic, which is 
an Indian name for Place o’ Much Water. It is a 
goodish sized pool, and there is another off yender as 
large as this, hitched on by a narrer rim o’ water, 
so the two look like a pair o’ spectacles.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE CRY FOR HELP. 

While the boys stopped to admire the silvery 
sheet of water, hedged with wildwood growing to 
the very edge, the Woodranger reached silently into 
a dense thicket of bushes hanging out over the shore 
of the pond, and pulled from its hiding-place a birch 
canoe, with its paddle. 

Norman and the Stark boys could not help ex- 
pressing surprise at seeing this done, but Rob 
Rogers said : 

“Don’t let Woodranger surprise you, Mac, by 
pulling a canoe out of a thicket like that. I hon- 
estly believe he has one in every pond and stream in 
New England. And the fun of it is he can always 
lay his hand on one when he wants it.” 

“ Nay, lad, it is one o’ man’s weak p’ints to be o’er 
confident. I remember this summer o’ coming to a 
leetle strayed-away corner o’ water that I generally 
skim in my birch rather than tramp around, but I 
didn’t find the canoe. Mebbe some red took it ; 
mebbe it had drifted away. I do not purtend to 
196 


THE CRY FOR HELP. 1 97 

say. I know it cost me twenty miles o’ perambu- 
lating through a dense briar.” 

‘‘ How many canoes do you suppose you have, 
Woodranger, in hiding like this 't ” asked the boy 
ranger. 

I trust it is no indiscretion o’ mine to say that 
I have a goodish number. I find ’em very convanient, 
too. Step in, lads, and we’ll cross this bit o’ water in 
a jiffy.” 

To four such boys, who revelled in the life of the 
woods, this trip was already proving delightful. With 
that easy movement, born of the forester, the 
Woodranger pushed the light bark out from its 
shelter, and, springing nimbly in with his passen- 
gers, sent it flying over the sparkling water. The 
day was clear, and the refreshing breeze coming 
over the lake brought a feeling of exhilaration to 
the five. 

“ This is better than dragging through the brush- 
wood, with the vines and briars tugging at your 
jacket,” declared Billy Stark. *^For my part, I wish 
we could go this way all of the distance.” 

‘‘ Where would be your deer you have boasted of 
bagging ? ” asked Rob. 

<‘Oh, well, perhaps I should want to go ashore 
long enough to capture that. But I didn’t know 
Massabesic was so large, Woodranger.” 

As I said, it is a goodish sized pool. It was 


THE WOODRANGER. 


198 

a favourite spot o’ the reds, who had a village on 
the north shore, until the plague killed so many o’ 
’em there weren’t enough left to be sociable. That 
was just afore the whites kern, and over yender,” 
pointing to the right, »is the ruined cabin o’ the 
last o’ their tribe in this vicinity, an Indian maiden. 
She married the first settler in these parts, who kern 
here while her people were dying at short notice. 
He was a negro, who had kem with John Smith on 
his v’yage to this country. He was an escaped slave, 
and their union seemed to me pathetic, being, as they 
were, the outcasts o’ two races. But how the water 
has taken on its winter clothes within a few days. 
There is snow in the air.” 

Water with winter clothes ! ” exclaimed Billy 
Stark, while the other boys did not try to conceal 
their wonder at such a statement. I never heard 
of water having clothes.” 

‘‘Neither did you ever o’ the bear wearing a 
jacket, and yet his suit o’ warm fur is in every 
sense his clothes. So it might be said o’ every 
creatur’ that runs or flies. I can’t say so positive 
o’ the fish that swim in the water, but I have marked 
a difference in dress o’ the streams and ponds in 
which they live. Take the babbling brook in the 
summer and you will find it merrily dancing in its 
white and silvery frock, just as if, like the human 
creatur’, it had thrown off its gray garb o’ winter. 


THE CRY FOR HELP. 


199 


But when cold weather comes you see that same 
brook with a deep blue on. Then, too, in summer 
its song has a gentle, babbling sound, as if it felt 
good-will toward all, but in the cold season it rushes 
on with a harsh, gurgling noise, as if it were fretting 
over the prospect ahead, for all the world like man, 
scolding for what he knows not. It is the same with 
the pond. Last summer old Massabesic had a sunny 
smile rippling all over her fair figure ; but now she 
is donning the dull, leaden hue o’ winter. How 
much more cheerless, too, do the waves dash and 
break on her beaches. All things change with the 
seasons, even to the coats o’ the bear and the beaver, 
the wolf and the rabbit. But hark ! do my old ears 
deceive me, or is that the cry o’ human throat } 
Your ears are keener than mine.” 

“ It is a cry for help from some one,” said Nor- 
man, and the others nodded their heads, as they 
continued to listen. 

It comes from the east shore,” said Rob. Who 
can it be and what is the trouble } ” 

“We will soon know, lad, we will soon know,” 
and the Woodranger began to send the canoe over 
the water at redoubled speed. 

“If I only had a paddle,” said Rob. 

“Nay) lad, let not that consarn thee. Whoever 
it be, he has lusty lungs. Keep a sharp lookout, 
for were it not in peaceful times one might be only 


200 


THE WOODRANGER. 


called discreet if he looked on sich bawling as lacking 
common sense.” 

The boys needed -no urging to maintain a close 
watch ahead, and it wasn’t long before the blue line 
of the distant shore loomed up into a rugged breast- 
work of forest. As the forester continued to ply 
his paddle with vigorous strokes, they watched with 
increasing earnestness the scene ahead. To their 
wonder, the shouts of the person had stopped. 

Look sharp, lads,” were the Woodranger’s words, 
while he kept at his task with unabated power. 

'‘I see something dark in the top of that maple 
off to the left, which may be a man,” said Rob, 
pointing in the direction he was looking. 

“ So do I,” said Norman. “ It is a man, who has 
climbed into the top, or I am mistaken.” 

As the canoe bore them nearer the boys became 
certain of this fact, though the person remained per- 
fectly quiet. The tree into which he had climbed 
was not as high as others standing close at hand, 
while it grew so near the shore that its branches 
hung out over the water. 

“ What does he mean by staying there ? ” asked 
Billy. Hadn’t we better shout to him. Wood- 
ranger ? ” 

“Not yet, lad, not yet. Watch him as close as 
you would a cat, and have your weepons handy. He 
may be there for a bit o’ an amazement against our 


THE CRY FOR HELP. 


201 


peace o’ mind, thinking we are greenies. It is a 
man sure, and he do lay amazing still, seeing he has 
dumb so high.” 

The Woodranger had himself taken a good view 
of the mysterious stranger in the tree-top, before he 
resumed his paddling. 

As the canoe continued to approach the spot the 
man remained without moving, though once Rob 
believed he was motioning to them. 

“He has seen us, that is certain. But what can 
his queer actions mean } I can see his white face 
turned toward us.” 

“ It is Zack Bitlock ! ” exclaimed Norman, recog- 
nising the strange person. “ He cannot mean us 
any harm.” 

By this time the canoe had got quite near, and 
with another vigorous stroke the Woodranger sent it 
gliding within easy view of the man in the tree-top, 
and then stopped to take a careful survey of him. 


CHAPTER XXL 


A PECULIAR PREDICAMENT. 

Sha’n’t I speak to him ? ” asked Billy Stark, 
as he watched the peculiar action, or rather non- 
action, of Goodman Bitlock, who remained perfectly 
motionless. 

The Woodranger silenced the young speaker with 
a motion of the hand, while he said, in a low tone : 

‘‘ There be nothing without reason, and there be 
reason for that silence. Do you not see under the 
maple that leetle varmint o’ a skunk.? Can it be 
possible the simpleton has been treed by a skunk .? 
Maybe it is not harder to believe than that a man 
could be drove into ambushment by a porcupine. 
Sich I have known.” 

Now that the forester had called their attention in 
that direction, the boys saw an animal of the unpop- 
ular family named by their companion. It was sit- 
ting quietly on its haunches, looking up into the 
tree with an air of triumph at having run its big 
game to earth, or rather into air. But before either 
of the boys could express their surprise at the situa- 


A PECULIAR PREDICAMENT. 203 

tion, the Woodranger made another and more start- 
ling discovery. 

“ Look in the pines on the right, lads. D’ you see 
them dark balls curled up in the crotch } They are 
what keeps our man so still. They be a couple o’ 
wolverines, and, seeing they be tough leetle cus- 
tomers to handle sometimes, it looks so we had 
a lively leetle amazement ahead. Hi ! ” 

The single exclamation was called from the Wood- 
ranger by a sudden commotion in both maple and 
pine. Zack Bitlock, either becoming too tired of 
remaining in his cramped position longer without 
moving, or else alarmed at some threatening move- 
ment of his enemies, shifted himself slightly higher. 

He had barely done so before two short screams 
came from the pine, and a pair of lissom forms shot 
out toward the frightened man, who uttered a wild 
yell of terror, and pitched head first into the water. 
The forester’s ever handy rifle was brought to his 
shoulder, and its ringing report rang out as the twin 
creatures were midway in their flight. The next 
moment Rob Rogers fired, but whether his bullet 
hit its mark or not, or whether he had shot at the 
same animal the Woodranger had, one of the wol- 
verines suddenly plunged downward, while the other 
reached the maple. 

It was the turn of Norman and the Stark boys 
now, and simultaneously they fired at the snarling 


204 WOODRANGER. 

brute in the tree, which, with an angry growl, dropped 
headlong into the pond. But the creatures seemed 
to die hard. The first had struck almost on top of 
the struggling man, and instantly attacked him, with 
snarls and growls of rage. 

Zack Bitlock shrieked for help, while he strove to 
beat off his ferocious assailant. The second, with 
a willingness to succour its mate really creditable, 
went to its assistance, and between the two the situ- 
ation of the half-drowned man was getting to be 
serious. 

Rob began to reload his weapon with all haste 
possible. Norman shifted his gun, so as to club off 
the angry brutes, while Johnny Stark proposed to 
carry “war into camp” by jumping into the water, 
that he might mingle in the fight. 

With a few swift, silent movements of the paddle 
the Woodranger sent the canoe alongside the strug- 
gling combatants, churning the water into foam with 
their desperate endeavours. Drawing the long, keen 
knife he always carried, the forester quickly buried its 
blade to the handle in the nearest wolverine. But 
before he could reach the other it retreated out of 
harm’s way. Then, as if determined on a last furious 
resort, it charged on the canoe ! 

The Woodranger thus found it necessary to turn 
his efforts toward keeping the frail craft right side up. 
Johnny Stark hit the wolverine a tremendous blow 


A PECULIAR PREDICAMENT. 205 

over the head, just as its claws grasped the rim of 
the canoe, and Norman next dealt it such a whack 
that it fell back into the water. As if possessed of a 
charmed life, it still offered battle, but it finally 
retreated, swimming rapidly toward a little headland 
projecting into the pond a dozen yards below. 

“It’s going to get away!” cried Johnny, and he 
would have followed it into the water had not the 
hand of the Woodranger held him back. 

“Let the varmint go, lad 1 You can do no good, 
and you may get a scratch you’ll remember. Let 
the pesky leetle varmint go.” 

But the plucky wolverine was not destined to 
escape. As it crawled upon the rocky shore, Rob 
Rogers had his rifle to his shoulder, and, with a good 
aim, he sent a bullet into its brain. Springing high 
into the air, with an angry snarl, the doomed creature 
fell upon the rocks. 

“Well done, Robby 1 ” said the Woodranger. 
“ That fixes him. On the whole I’m glad the 
creatur’ weren’t allowed to get away. O’ all the 
four-footed denizens o’ the wilderness I set the wol- 
verine down as the meanest. It’s a sort o’ cross be- 
tween the bear and the weasel, having all the vices 
and cunning o’ both, with their good qualities left 
out, and the temper o’ the wolf added. It shows its 
ugliness in its looks, its only claim to beauty being 
its bushy tail, which it seems to have got from the 


206 


THE WOODRANGER. 


wolf. Its savageness is only equalled by its cunning. 
It is not as clumsy as a bear, and it can climb trees 
almost as well as a wildcat. It is nothing unusual 
for one to lie on some perch overhead, and wait for 
something to come along for it to pounce on to and 
devour. It don’t hesitate to take man for its victim, 
and I tell yoii, with its long, sharp claws and teeth, 
it’s no frolic to have it clinging to your back, as 
I have found more’n once. But Goodman Bitlock 
has crawled out o’ the water, and we must see what 
we can do for him.” 

As the water was not over four feet deep where 
he had fallen into the pond, Zack Bitlock had easily 
reached the shore, the moment he had managed to 
get clear from the wolverines. The water was drip- 
ping from his clothes, and as he stood there, tremb- 
ling from fright and the chilling effects of his 
impromptu bath, he presented a most ludicrous 
figure. 

Is thet ye. Ranger } ” he asked between his 
chattering teeth, as the forester brought the canoe 
close to the shore. I’m mighty glad to see ye.” 

“ What sort o’ an amazement was you up to ” 
asked the other. Looked so you were handsomely 
treed.” 

“Wuss’n thet. Ranger! I was clean, teetotally 
cornered. I was jes’ beginning to wonder how I 
was goin’ to git out, when ye hove in sight.” 


A PECULIAR PREDICAMENT. 


207 


How did it happen ? ” 

'Ht didn’t happen, Ranger; it jes’ did. Ye see 
I was cornin’ down through th’ woods a-harkin’ fer 
a deer, when all ter-wunst one o’ th’ gol-dangest, 
meanest lookin’ skunks you ever seed slid under my 
feet ! Mebbe I didn’t holler, knowin’ whut th’ 
pesky creetur’s air liable to do. When I’d got over 
my holler I ups ol’ Ginger — they say guns do 
better ef ye name ’em, so I chucked on mine th’ bes’ 
I could think of, an’ th’ most ’propriate. Wull, 
I let ol’ Ginger flop. Thet is I gin him a chaince, 
but he didn’t flip a yip! He didn’t so much as 
wink. Seein’ then th’ skunk wus purty lively, I 
shinned the nearest tree in double-quick time. Then 
I s’posed the tarnal warmint would git erway, but it 
sort o’ set up guard duty like right under thet tree, 
an’ th’ Lord only knowed when it’d git off. So I 
begun to holler like blazes. When I had fetched 
erbout my third whoop, I heerd a move in thet pine, 
an’ I looked thet way, an’ saw thet pair o’ wolverines, 
which I s’pose had been thar all th’ time waitin’ fer 
me. I see thet my hollerin’ wuz goin’ to make ’em 
take me at short notice, so I shet my mouth an’ 
kept as still as I could fer th’ tree shakin’. But, 
Lord Harry 1 I don’t know how I sh’u’d kem out ef 
ye hadn’t kem erlong.” 

‘‘ Where’s your gun, Bitlock .? ” 

‘‘Where I drapped yit when I dumb the tree. 


208 


THE WOODRANGER. 


Didn’t expect me to climb a tree with a gun in my 
fist, did ye ? ” 

‘‘Well, I see the leetle varmint that driv you to 
roost has left in a hurry, so get your weapon and 
come with us, if you want to.” 

“ I sh’u’d be most s’prisin’ happy to do so. 
Ranger, but ye see ’twon’t do fer me to git inter 
thet canoo in my wet clothes. I sh’u’d git my sartin 
death o’ cold. No, Ranger, I must keep on my feet 
till I git th’ circulation to movin’. Much obleeged, 
though.” 

“Just as you say, Bitlock. We expect to camp 
down by the Devil’s Den to-night, and you can fol- 
low the shore to the place if you want to.” 

“ Mebbe I will ; I’ll see. I’m jes’ on aidge to 
bark a deer.” 

Seeing they could not help him any further, the 
Woodranger turned the canoe again toward the 
north and sent it flying over the pond, leaving 
Bitlock still standing on the shore wringing the 
water from his clothes. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE GUN-SHOT. 

Little was said by the occupants of the canoe, 
while the Woodranger continued to use the paddle 
with his swift, silent strokes, until a cove on the 
northeast shore of Massabesic loomed plainly into 
view. The pines in that quarter grew quite to the 
water’s edge, their long arms at places falling over 
into the pond. 

** Take the paddle awhile, Rob,” said the forester, 
‘‘and I will drop a line for our supper, seeing we 
have taken no game this afternoon. To-morrow 
we surely shall not have to depend on sich supplies. 
Not that I object to a good meal o’ Massabesic 
perch or pike. At the mouth of some of its streams 
I have pulled in as fine a salmon trout as you’d care 
for. Ha ! there’s enough for any two o’ you hungry 
boys,” he declared, as he hauled in a fine specimen 
of the finny tribe. “ Two more sich as he, and we’ll 
run in ashore.” 

Five minutes later Rob was sending the canoe 
into a little bay, hidden from view until the beholder 
209 


210 


THE WOODRANGER, 


was close upon it by a dense border of bushes en- 
circling the horseshoe-shaped shore. To the sur- 
prise of the boys, they saw a well-worn path leading 
back into the growth from the apex of the circular 
retreat. 

Is it possible you have been here so many times, 
Woodranger, as to have made a beaten path into 
the woods ? ” 

“ Possible, my lad, but not probable. ’Tis another 
trail o’ the reds. It leads back to another camping- 
place o’ the dusky tribe. I generally seek this 
place, as just above here it is extremely dry and 
sheltered for a camping spot. It is elevated enough 
to command a goodish survey o’ the water.” 

By this time the canoe had touched on the sandy 
beach. The boys jumped out, and began at once to 
remove their outfits. When the forester had con- 
cealed his frail bark to his satisfaction under some 
overhanging bushes, he led the way back into the 
depths of the forest. 

After following the path for a short distance, the 
little party found itself under the low-spreading arms 
of a giant pine, which stood on the backbone of a slight 
ridge of land. A background of high rocks on the 
north and west formed a protection from the cold 
winds, while the south was open to receive the sun, 
making an ideal camping-place. 

“There is a cave just back here called the Devil’s 


THE GUN-SHOT. 


21 1 


Den,” said Rob, who alone of the boys had been 
there before. “We’ll visit it by and by. But first 
I imagine Woodranger will want us to bring together 
some wood for a fire.” 

“ Sartin, lad, sartin ; and while you be about that 
I’ll set things in order here. If you go near the 
cave I would not advise you to go in, as it is damp 
and cold within at this season.” 

The four boys at once went in quest of the wood, 
and they were so successful that in a few minutes 
they had brought a good-sized pile of dried branches 
and fallen saplings, so that the Woodranger was 
enabled soon to have a cheerful fire blazing. Seeing 
that the latter was busy about the forthcoming meal, 
and that they were not needed, the boys started up 
the hillside under the lead of Rob, to visit the cave 
with the ominous name of Devil’s Den. 

They soon found themselves at the foot of an 

immense cliff, which was rent and seamed in several 

* 

places. The largest of these fissures was nearly in 
the middle of the rocky wall, and the young explorers 
found that it led an unknown depth into the earth. 
Billy and Johnny started to penetrate its recess, but 
it was so dark and damp that, after going a short 
distance, they were glad to turn back. 

“ If I had a torch,” said the resolute Johnny, “ I’d 
go to the end.” 

“You’d have a smart tramp to get back for sup- 


212 


THE WOODRANGER. 


per, if you went to the end,” said Rob. There is 
an account which says a dog once ran in here after a 
fox, and though the dog was never known to come 
out, he was heard barking underground two miles 
away from here ! ” 

“ Fudge, Rob ! you know that is a story,” declared 
Billy. 

Ask Woodranger if it isn’t so — I mean the 
story.” 

<< Look here, boys ! ” called out Johnny, who had 
left the others to wander into the forest ; here are 
what look like two graves under this chestnut. Can 
anybody have been buried here ? ” 

Injuns ! ” declared Billy. 

At that moment the report of a gun rang out 
clearly in the distance, quickly succeeded by a human 
cry. 

“ Who can that be .? ” asked Johnny. 

“ Zack Bitlock, I think,” replied Norman. “ I 
wonder what trouble he has got into now.” 

Putting all thoughts of the grave mounds from 
their minds, the four boys returned to the Wood- 
ranger to consult with him in regard to this new 
alarm. The forester was busily engaged in tending 
the fish, which he had impaled upon spits improvised 
from hazel sticks, and placed over the fire. Not 
until he had seen the delicious morsels browned to a 
nicety, and removed them from the fire, did he offer 


THE G UN- SHO T. 2 1 3 

to reply to the anxious inquiries of his' young com- 
panions. 

‘‘Yes, I heerd the gun-shot, and likewise I heerd 
a goodish part o’ the holler, as if the feller was a loon. 
Likewise I hear him coming through the breshwood 
near at hand.” 

As the Woodranger finished speaking, they, too, 
heard a heavy, lumbering step in the woods just 
below them, and as they listened to the sounds the 
ungainly figure of Zack Bitlock burst into sight. 
He had evidently seen the fire some time before, for 
he was headed directly toward it. He had a wild, 
scared look on his homely face, which made him look 
more unprepossessing than ever. 

“ Lord Harry ! ” he gasped, as he staggered into 
the little arena holding our group of hunters, “ I 
never was so scared in my born life. That air 
weepon o’ mine has gone stark, starin’ mad ! A 
leetle spell ago I axed it to speak its piece, an’ it 
never yipped. Jes’ now, as I was walkin’ erlong, it 
begun to hiss and sputter, and then flew off like a 
wildcat ! I hove it aside an’ run fer life.” 

Bitlock was greatly excited, and he could not 
stand still while he told his story. Instead of reply- 
ing to him, the Woodranger said : 

“ Draw round, lads, and help yourselves to the fish. 
Br’iled fish to be good must be eaten warm from the 
coals. Then, too, as soon as you have satisfied your 


214 


THE WOODRANGER, 


appetites, you had better lop down some of them 
boughs, if you want any protection for the night. 
As for myself. I’m fain to allow I do not care for 
sich contraptions. But seeing you are less used to 
outdoor life, and the nights be a bit coolish at this 
season, I want to know that you are comfortable. 
Come up, Zack, and eat a bit o’ br’iled fish. It will 
warm you ’mazingly.” 

‘‘ Gol dang it. Ranger ! I’m going home. That is, 
if I can get Rob to take me over th’ pond.” 

’Twon’t do, Zack. Ketch your death o’ cold in 
that soaked skin. Stop till morning, sure. Eat and 
get dry now.” 

Goodman Bitlock was glad enough to obey, and a 
minute later he was eating voraciously, and after 
supper he hovered over the fire, so as to dry his wet 
clothes. Under the direction of the forester fhe 
boys soon constructed a comfortable bough house. 
By the time this was finished it was quite dark, and 
the stars were beginning to peep out in the sky. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


THE FOREST TRAGEDY. 

When at last the party had got comfortably 
settled around the cheerful camp-fire, Rob asked : 

“ Are those mounds up near the Devil’s Den the 
graves of white people, Woodranger ? ” 

‘‘ One is and one isn’t, lad, though I reckon the 
good angel has writ out their records alike. Them 
graves were made for an Indian maid and her white 
lover. It was one o’ them ’fairs with which these 
parts be all writ over.” 

‘‘ So there is a story, Woodranger,” said the four 
boys, in a chorus. “You must tell it to us.” 

“ Mebbe it will while away a few minutes, and if 
you’ll pile a leetle more bresh on the fire. I’ll tell you 
the sad story o’ Princess Avawanda. 

“Among the first white settlers in this vicinity 
was a Frenchman by the name o’ Le Roche. He 
built him a cabin six or eight miles, as the crow flies, 
to the east o’ this place. His wife came with him, 
and a son about one and twenty. 

“ This youngster, whose name I disremember, was 
215 


2i6 


THE WOODRANGER. 


fond o’ the chase, which shows to me that he was 
above dissembling. I opine he was a likely lad. 
During one o’ his perambulations o’ the woods he 
run ’pon a deer. It was just above here, and, heed- 
less o’ any harm from it, he shot the varmint. 
Scurcely had it toppled over before half a dozen reds 
leaped out o’ their ambushment and caught him as 
fast as a fish in a net. He was taken to their camp 
on a goodish sized stream which flows into the pond. 

‘‘ The youngster, Le Roche, was knowing to leetle 
o’ Indian warfare, but he supposed the reds weren’t on 
the warpath at that time. So they weren’t, but this 
was their fishing and hunting grounds, and, ’cording 
to their idee, the deer hereabouts belonged to ’em. 
But the older warriors seemed to persuade the younger 
into the belief that it was best to let the young man 
off, on the expectation that he would do better. Not 
understanding a word o’ that which was said to him, 
the youngster was ’lowed to depart in peace, though 
he was not given back his gun. 

‘‘Joyed to get off so easy, he didn’t mind his loss, 
but when he come along hereabouts, he was over- 
taken by the chief’s daughter, Avawanda, who had 
brought his gun. She told in that tongue which he 
did not understand that he must leave that corner at 
once. She told him some o’ the warriors were ill- 
pleased with ’lowing him his liberty. More by her 
gestures than her words, she made him realise the 


THE FOREST TRAGEDY. 


217 


risk she had run in coming to him, and the danger o’ 
his situation. She had seen him during the council 
o’ her race, and in the manner o’ a woman’s way her 
heart had gone out to him. I don’t say she told him 
as much as this, though it was an Indian’s way. 

‘‘The youngster went boldly on his way, but he 
hadn’t gone twenty yards afore some arrows whistled 
around his head, and two reds leaped in front o’ him 
flourishing their tomahawks and howling like wolves. 

“ Though taken unawares, the youngster killed the 
foremost, and engaged in a hand-to-hand grapple with 
the other. It must have been a tough battle, for at 
last, when the Indian girl, attracted by the cries and 
struggles, reached the spot, both lay as if dead. 

“In the short time she had known the young 
Frenchman he had awakened a strong passion in her 
breast for him, and she bent tenderly over him to see 
if there was any sign o’ life left. After a hasty ex- 
amination, she was joyed to find that he lived. But 
it would be impossible for him to reach home. Not 
daring to leave him there, she carried his well-nigh 
lifeless body to the cave. Laying it down on a bed 
o’ leaves, she started for his home, to tell his father 
what she had done. 

“ It was a bolder amazement than she knew in 
going to the youngster’s father with the story of his 
adventure, but she was honest and fearless, as the 
innocent ever are. When Le Roche heard o’ the fate 


2I8 


THE WOODRANGER. 


o’ his boy, at first he could ne’er believe it. But 
Avawanda seemed honest, though he swore she 
should die if she had deceived him. Poor child ! As 
if she had not risked enough in going there to him. 
Should her father I’arn o’ it, he would put her to 
death at once. But Le Roche got two or three 
friends to go with him, and started for this place, 
under the lead o’ the girl. 

‘‘’Pon getting here, the wounded youngster was 
not to be found. Sartin, then, that Avawanda had 
led him into a trap, Le Roche swore he would kill 
her. She fled for her life, and he and his com- 
panions follered her. 

Their anger making them resky, the leetle party 
crept down to the Indian village. There they see 
the boy a captive, and undergoing a course o’ torture. 
It seemed the reds had found him at the cave while 
Avawanda was gone, and, knowing he’d killed two o’ 
their number, set about avenging their deaths. Mad- 
dened by the sight, Le Roche called upon his friends 
to attack ’em with him. 

A bloody fight must have followed, though none 
o’ the whites were killed. But do his best, Le Roche 
did not manage to bear off his son, who somehow 
was lost in the scramble. At last, having killed three 
o’ the reds, and his companions being so hard hit they 
could do no more fighting, the Frenchman was fain 
to get away. 


THE FOREST TRAGEDY. 


219 


He was coming up the path just below here, 
when he was surprised to see the Indian girl coming 
toward the cave, with his boy’s body in her arms. 
Without stopping to think that she might have resked 
her life to save his son, and was then trying to get 
him away from his enemies, though they were her 
kin, Le Roche could think only o’ treachery. Believ- 
ing she was trying to hide his body, he shot her dead 
with her loved one in her arms. 

Upon reaching the side o’ his boy, he found that 
the same bullet o’ his which had taken Avawanda’s 
life had given him his death-wound ! The youngster 
lived long enough to tell his father that she had saved 
him from the torture, and was bearing him to that 
place until she could find some way to get him home. 

“ ‘ She died for me, father ! and the same bullet has 
cost me my life, for otherwise I might have got well. 
I have one favour to ask. Bury us here side by 
side.’ 

“The grief-stricken father could promise nothing 
less, and so you see their graves here on this little 
hill, within sight of the beautiful sheet o’ water 
Avawanda loved so well. The granite walls o’ the 
hillside, which were silent witnesses o’ that day’s 
awful work, guard through the long years their 
lonely rest. But don’t let the sad story rob you o’ 
your evening’s enj’yment. How beautiful old Mas- 
sabesic looks under the starry eyes o’ the night. So 


220 


THE WOODRANGER. 


your gun is getting to be onsartain, Zack. Is as 
glum as a beetle when you want it to talk, and pops 
off in the most on reasonable way when it should 
hold its tongue, eh ? ” 

By this time Bitlock had got his clothes pretty 
well dried, and he had also got into a more amiable 
frame of mind, so it was a free and cheerful group 
gathered there under the pines amid the solitude of 
the forest. For a long time the six talked about the 
topics interesting them most, the Woodranger filling 
in the waste places of conversation with many inci- 
dents of his checkered life, until at last he signified 
that it was time to seek rest. 

Scraping a few leaves together, and selecting a 
moss-covered stone for a pillow, he stretched his 
stalwart figure at full length on his primitive couch. 
In a brief time he sank into a child-like slumber, a 
smile, now and then, hovering over his bronzed and 
bearded countenance, as if some sweet vision of 
happy days gone by had flitted through his dreams. 
Bitlock was soon snoring loudly close by the fire. 
Norman and the other boys gladly lay down on 
their simple beds of leaves and boughs, covered with 
their skin robes, and were soon enjoying their well- 
earned rest. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


bear’s claws THE TURKEY TRAIN. 

When the boys awoke in the morning they found 
the Woodranger already astir. In fact, he had not 
only brought the wood and re-kindled the fire, but 
he had some fine fish broiling and had completed the 
other preparations for breakfast. 

^‘Why didn’t you speak to us,” said Norman, 
** and we would have helped you 1 ” 

‘‘ Nay, lad, that would have been childish in me. 
You will find afore night that you have needed every 
bit o’ rest you have got. You have a goodish walk 
afore you to-day.” 

*‘I think you said we should reach Pawtuckaway 
Mountain to-day ? ” 

“ I trust we shall be ’lowed to reach there by sun- 
down, though we shall have no water-courses to help 
us out. But you have none too much time in which 
to wash for breakfast. This fish to be at its best 
needs to be eaten smoking hot. That is the great 

secret o’ the flavour o’ all food. Nothing is so good 
221 


222 


THE WOODRANGER. 


that has been ’lowed to lose the flavour o’ its 
cooking.” 

During the meal, at Bitlock’s request, the Wood- 
ranger concluded to let Norman and Rob take him 
across the pond in the canoe, in order that he might 
return home. Before they started, Johnny Stark 
went in quest of the firearm, which the frightened 
man had thrown away the previous night. 

The journey across the pond and back proving 
uneventful, upon the return of Norman and Rob 
the Woodranger carefully concealed his canoe, so 
they might have it on their way back, after which 
they broke camp ” at the Devil’s Den. 

Their course now lay through a wilderness of 
vegetation. At first they advanced quite rapidly 
through the pine forest, but upon reaching the 
expanses of smaller hard woods, such as gray 
birches, hazels, dogwoods, alders, sumachs, iron- 
woods, water-bushes, grapes, apple shrubs, and run- 
ning hemlocks, which grew almost everywhere in the 
swamp and along the margins of the streams, they 
often found it difficult to get along. Here the 
Woodranger showed the advantage of his training 
by the greater ease and speed with which he picked 
his way. 

comes very much o’ practice,” he said, as 
Billy Stark for the twentieth time was sent flying 
headlong to the ground by getting caught in a net- 


BEARDS CLAWS— THE TURKEY TRAIN, 223 

work of vines. If you had brought your foot 
around with a swinging stride, and not tried to step 
so boldly over it, lad, you ne’er would have got 
caught as you did. But, alack a man, a lad like 
you ne’er minds a tumble like that. I do believe 
you enj’y ' it. It does you good. Look hyur, 
lads ! ” 

The Woodranger’s speech had taken a sudden 
turn, and ended with an earnestness which caused 
the boys to hasten to his side with what speed they 
could. He had stopped near the bank of a small 
stream, and, as they joined him, pointed to some 
freshly made tracks in the soft earth near the water’s 
edge. The imprint was as wide as that made by 
the forester’s moccasin, though shorter, so as to 
give it a more round shape. Rob Rogers was the 
first to recognise it, and he exclaimed, with some 
excitement : 

A bear’s track, Woodranger ! ” 

B’ar sign sure, lad. And the creatur’ has been 
here inside an hour. See how it has trod its way 
to its drinking-place.” 

The boys had already seen a beaten path leading 
to the place, and at once they .said : 

« Shall we follow him up, Woodranger .? ” 

The forester shook his head. 

We have no use for him just now. Mebbe when 
we come back we’ll try a hand with him. But you 


224 


THE WOODRANGER. 


remember it is buck or moose that we are the most 
detarmined to find. Until we have satisfied our 
peace o’ mind in that direction other game must 
wait.” 

Half an hour’s advance was then made in com- 
parative silence, when again the Woodranger stopped, 
and, with a smile on his lips, pointed to the ground, 
saying : 

‘‘ Gan you read that sign, Robby } ” 

The boy ranger and his young companions quickly 
reached the spot, to see a smaller imprint than that 
made by the bear, but which bore some resemblance 
to it. 

Wildcat ! ” was Rob’s prompt reply. 

How do you know but it’s a cub’s track ? ” 
asked the forester. 

In the bear’s tracks there were traces of the 
claws, but here there are none to be seen. Besides, 
the track is not so round.” 

Good for you, lad. It is a wildcat, and a big 
one, j edging by its foot. How long since it was 
here .? ” 

“Less than an hour. The earth is scarcely dry 
here where the sun does not fall.” 

“ Good jedgment, lad. But I reckon we have as 
leetle use for cat as we have for b’ar at this time. 
We’ll let the varmint go his way, while we go ours. 
In the hollow o’er that ridge, if I mistake not, we 


BEARDS CLAWS— THE TURKEY TRAIN, 225 

shall find something for our dinner. Hark ! hear 
that > ” 

The loud, piercing scream of a hawk had broken 
the silence of the forest, and looking up through a 
rift in the forest canopy they discovered the lone 
bird circling in the air, as it kept up its cries of 
alarm. 

Let me get a shot at it ! ” cried Billy, excitedly. 

A wanton waste o’ powder, lad,” said the Wood- 
ranger. “ Instead o’ firing away your ammunition, 
let’s watch the bird a bit. I opine it is pretty well 
frightened.” 

What can have frightened it } ” 

man and a white one at that. Just wait 
a minute and see if I’m not right.” 

How can you know it is a white man } ” 

‘‘ Because a red is too often seen to raise all that 
rumpus for, and — ha! just as I expected. And 
the fool has burned his powder for nothing.” 

The report of a gun had been heard in the midst 
of the forester’s speech, immediately following which, 
with a louder scream, the hawk flew to a greater 
height. ^ 

Who can it be ” asked Norman. 

<‘Not one you would be hankering to meet, if my 
ol’ ears don’t deceive me,” replied the Woodr^ger, 
resuming his advance. 

You don’t mean Gunwad ? 


226 


THE WOODRANGER. 


“ I do. None but sich a varmint would be wast- 
ing his ammunition on a hawk. No truer saying 
than ‘birds o’ feather flock together’ was e’er 
spoken ; and it is equally true that birds o’ feather 
war on each other.” 

“But how could you tell this was Gun wad.? You 
must have^had another reason for being so sure.” 

“ Exactly, lad. I knowed it was the deer reeve 
by the peculiar sound o’ his gun. If you want the 
proof o’ sight we’ll perambulate that way.” 

“No — no ! But can you tell any one by the 
report of his gun .? ” 

“Ginerally, lad, after a fair trial. I find it is a 
handy knack.” 

After this, little was said for half an hour. Nor- 
man was thinking of the near presence of Gunwad, 
and was wondering if his having come into that 
region meant anything to him. In one respect 
he was relieved to know the unprincipled deer reeve 
was near ; he could not be troubling those at home. 
This fear had made him loath to leave them. In 
the midst of his speculations he found that the 
Woodranger had again stopped, and the boys had 
imitated his example. As the little group waited in 
silence, the younger members of the party wonder- 
ing what this sudden halt signified, a tremulous, 
guttural cry, repeated three times in rapid succession, 
reached their ears. 


BEARDS CLAWS— THE TURKEY TRAIN. 22 / 

There’s our dinner,” said the forester, in a low 
tone, and I will warrant you he is a fat old gobbler. 
Mind you how husky his voice is. To save running 
after him I will ask him to come and deliver himself 
up.” 

When the Woodranger had finished speaking, he 
placed his left hand to his lips, and half closing it, he 
gave expression to a cry so like that of the wild 
turkey that even Rob Rogers looked surprised. Giv- 
ing this sound three times in quick succession, he 
stopped and listened with his companions. 

They didn’t have to wait long before the answer 
was sounded, louder and clearer than the notes be- 
fore. Again the Woodranger gave forth his chal- 
lenge, and again he received his reply. When these 
calls and replies had been made alternately half a 
dozen times, it was evident the turkey was near at 
hand. Each time the answering cry grew nearer 
and clearer, until the forester, parting the shrubbery 
with one hand, and pointing into the forest ahead 
with the other, said, in a whisper : 

“ See the old fellow and his brood ! I s’pose you 
are anxious to try your hands, lads, and you’ll have 
no fairer chance. Take your pick, and fire when I 
give the word,” 

It was a beautiful sight that greeted the eyes of 
the boys, as their companion ceased speaking, and 
one that must have stirred the heart of any sports- 


228 


THE WOODRANGER. 


man. Marching through the forest, with head held 
high, with the air of one leading a victorious legion, 
strutted the largest turkey gobbler any of them had 
ever seen. Close behind him came the hen, and at 
her heels, following in single file, like a war-party 
of red men. going to battle, were the family brood of 
ten, the young nearly as large as the parent turkeys. 

Notwithstanding his great weight, the leader 
stepped noiselessly over the leaf-strewn pathway, 
while he was continually looking upward or sidewise, 
on the alert for the least suspicion of danger. He 
stopped abruptly in full view, his head bent slightly 
over and his small, clear eye looking sharply ahead. 
So suddenly had this been done, as if he had in some 
unknown manner been warned of peril, that one foot 
remained raised. In a moment every member of the 
turkey train was motionless. 

The old chief of the feathered legion seemed about 
to give expression to another cry, and the Wood- 
ranger raised his hand as a signal for the boys to 
fire. Norman had chosen a fine bronze gobbler of 
good size, and his young companions had each se- 
lected a victim, but before they had time to aim and 
fire, a dark, lissom form was seen to spring from be- 
hind a huge boulder upon the leader of the troop. 
The hen gave a quick, sharp cry of alarm, and in the 
twinkling of an eye disappeared with her brood. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE PLACE OF THE BIG BUCK. 

An exclamation of disgust left the Woodranger’s 
lips, and at the same moment his long rifle leaped to 
his shoulder. No sooner had his eye ran along its 
barrel than the ringing report of the firearm awoke 
the solitude of the forest. So swiftly had one act 
followed another, that the triumphant cry of the 
nimble assailant ended in a howl of pain, while it 
made a second involuntary leap into the air in the 
struggles of death. It fell about midway between 
the little group of spectators and the now lifeless 
turkey. 

Rob me o' my dinner in that way, will ye, ye 
sneaking thief ! I reckon it will be the last turkey 
you’ll ever try to carry off afore my eyes.” 

With these words, showing more excitement than 
was his wont, the Woodranger began to leisurely 
reload his weapon. 

What is it ” asked Johnny, without stopping to 
look at the creature ; and where did the turkeys go 
to so quick ? 

229 


230 


THE WOODRANGER. 


<<It’s a cat, lad, and a monster. It thought to 
cheat us o’ our dinner, but I reckon 01’ Danger gin it 
a dinner it won’t digest. Let’s take a peep at the 
creatur’.” 

As the Woodranger had said, the wildcat, for such 
it was, was a big one, and as it lay there, though harm- 
less enough then, the boys could not help shuddering. 
They found the turkey dead, too, though its slayer 
had not mutilated its body. 

“ It’ll make us a good dinner,” declared the Wood- 
ranger, “ and half a mile yon is a fit spot for us to 
make our nooning. First I’m going to skin the cat. 
While I’m doing it, you might pluck the gob- 
bler.” 

The spot selected by the Woodranger for a stop- 
ping-place was in one of the most beautiful valleys 
they had ever seen. Through the centre a good- 
sized brook ran merrily on its way, while a pine- 
clad hill on the north completely sheltered them 
from the cold wind, and the sun shone down upon 
the spot with a genial warmth. The boys at once 
set about gathering some dried wood with which to 
build a fire. During one of these searching trips, 
Norman ran upon an apple-tree standing in a shel- 
tered nook, which was still laden with fruit. These 
apples were uncommonly large and fair for wild fruit, 
and so well had the tree been protected from the 
frosts that they still retained their flavour. Upon 


THE PLACE OF THE BIG BUCK. 23 1 

tasting one of them and finding it so good, Norman 
called to the others to join him. 

Such a feast of fruit followed as none of them had 
ever enjoyed, while the Woodranger was nothing 
loath to eat his share. In the joy of this find, the 
turkey feast was put in the background, and baked ap- 
ples became an important part of that festive meal. 

wonder if the Injuns ever eat any apples.?” 
said Billy, regardless of his grammar. 

‘‘ Weel, lad, do not flatter yourself that they have 
never been to this very tree. I have heerd o’ there 
being sich a tree somewhere in these parts, but I 
ne’er had the good fortune to stumble upon it. 
Apples and nuts made a goodish part o’ the living 
o’ the reds during the autumn. I must say these 
are the best apples I ever tasted. Neither does this 
turkey require much effort to swallow. It was a 
plump creature.” 

Do wildcats often attack turkeys in that way .? ” 
asked Billy, as they finally moved back from their 
dinner, to seek comfortable resting-places for half an 
hour before resuming their wanderings. 

“That is the cat’s favourite way,” replied the 
Woodranger, as he made himself comfortable at 
the foot of an ash which threw out its gnarled roots 
in such a way as to afford arms upon which to rest. 
“ In fact, it is their only successful way. The turkey 
is a wary bird, and the wildcat is its worst enemy. 


232 THE WOODRANGER. 

Still, the four-footed creatur’ stands but leetle chance 
o’ ketching even a young turkey, so cautious is it by 
instinct, and so fleet o’ foot. You have seen how 
it can get out o’ the way o’ danger, to-day. Afore 
you could wink an eye, every one was out o’ sight, 
and a goodish hunt you would have had to find one 
on ’em. The cat knows that its only chance o’ 
ketching a turkey is by springing from a tree, so it 
resorts to a trick. Ah ! the cat is as full o’ quirks 
and quibbles as a porkypine is o’ quills. 

“ Getting its evil eye on a brood o’ turkeys, instead 
o’ trying to keep them from knowing it is round, it 
takes particular pains to be seen. It steals up 
behind ’em, until it is seen, when it steals away with 
well-feigned sheepishness. Then it reappears, and, 
after having got the attention o’ the turkeys, skulks 
out o’ sight ag’in. This it keeps doing until it has 
got the direction the turkeys are going fixed in its 
cunning head. After that, it steals away by a round- 
about course and conceals itself in the path of the 
turkeys, where it waits till they come along. Think- 
ing their enemy is behind them, the turkeys are not 
so watchful in front, and so they fall into the trap. 
You have seen the result o’ the cat’s manoeuvring 
to-day. It is not often at this season one sees such 
a brood o’ turkeys still together, but these were, 
doubtless, on their way to the sea-coast, where they 
like to spend their winters, to return in the spring.” 


THE PLACE OF THE BIG BUCK. 


233 


After a short rest, the party again were on the 
move, and, having now fairly entered the game-lands, 
were wide-awake for sport and adventure. The inci- 
dents of that afternoon were rapid and exciting 
enough to satisfy their most prodigal desires, but it 
would be scarcely interesting to detail them all. 
Norman and Rob each shot a deer, while of smaller 
game they got more than they could well care for. 
The deer they dressed, and the Woodranger spitted 
the meat upon tall, slender saplings, from whence it 
could be taken home whenever they could do so, 
while in the meantime it was safe from the clutches 
of prowling beasts. 

Finally, as the sunlight was fading from the cor- 
rugated crest of Mount Pawtuckaway, toward which 
they had been going all day, the Woodranger halted 
at the foot of a high, moss-covered cliff, near the base 
of the mountain, saying, as he cast his keen eyes 
about him : 

I ne’er think we shall find a likelier place to 
pitch our camp. It is well protected from the north 
and west ; there be plenty o’ pines to get your 
boughs for your bed ; and here be a goodish fountain 
o’ the purest water in the world. I see no need to 
go farther, and I jedge you lads are tired enough 
to be glad to hear the news.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 

Mount Pawtuckaway is the highest of three 
mountain peaks. Rearing its serried heights nearly 
a thousand feet above sea level, this rocky range is 
about as rugged a place as can be found in New 
England. At that time it was covered, wherever 
there was earth enough upon the rocks to support a 
shrub of any kind, by a forest of stunted pines, hem- 
locks, spruces, and cedars. But at frequent intervals 
the naked head of some granite cliff raised its gray 
crown into plain sight. Surrounding the heights at 
their base were forests of pines, divided at certain 
angles and corners by patches of white beeches, 
black maples, or walnuts. In the distance a silvery 
disc, glimmering above the tree-tops, marked the 
shores of a sheet of water. 

The boys were tired, but they took hold with a 
hearty good-will to assist the Woodranger in prepar- 
ing the evening meal, for they were hungry as well 
as weary. Generous portions of the venison had 
234 


AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 


235 


been reserved, and as soon as a fire had been kindled 
the forester was roasting goodly slices to an appetis- 
ing brown. 

At that season of the year evening comes on 
quickly after sunset, and as the five finished their 
camp meal, the last rays of daylight had faded from 
the mountain crags. 

“You said, Woodranger,” ventured Rob, during 
a lull in the conversation, “that there was a story 
connected with the naming of this mountain Paw- 
tuckaway. We should like to hear it.” 

“There is an Indian legend, lad, which pretends 
to explain why it is called by the name you give, 
which means the place o’ the big buck. I don’t 
mind telling the tale, though mebbe it be but a bit 
o’ fancy work cleverly wrought by the red man’s 
cunning. The reds did have a knack o’ weaving 
pretty consaits together, the better than the white 
man, perhaps, because he lived nearer to natur’. 

“’Cording to the traditions o’ the red man, this 
locality has always been a favourite stamping-ground 
for the brown deer. Among the many which lived 
hereabouts was a buck, bigger, fleeter o’ foot, and 
more cunning than any o’ his kind. So wide did his 
fame become that hunters came from afar to trail 
him down. But he had the knack o’ outwitting his 
pursuers, none of whom were able to track him arter 
he had reached the side 0’ this mountain. So the 


236 THE WOODRANGER. 

simple red man kem to believe this buck possessed a 
charmed life. 

‘‘ ’Mong the others that come and hunted in vain 
the cunning creatur’ was the Pennacook brave, 
Kinkinnasett, the warrior o’ the flying foot. He 
vowed by the stars that he’d run down the big buck 
or ne’er follow the trail ag’in. There was a girl 
mixed up in the ’fair, too, for Kinkinnasett loved an 
Indian maid, who was also beloved by another. But 
with sich coyness had she shown her favours that 
both warriors were hopeful. At last, to settle a 
matter that was beginning to ' stir bad blood, the 
maid said she would marry the one who would bring 
her the antlers o’ this buck. Kinkinnasett and his 
rival at once set forth on a hunt which later became 
a legend among the red men, the bold and fiery relat- 
ing it while the more timid held their breath. It 
was told to me by an old chief in a low tone, while 
he kept the camp-fire burning its brightest, for one 
and all believed that the foolish braves had angered 
the Great Spirit by their action. 

“Kinkinnasett, so the story runs, was the one to 
start the big buck from its favourite haunt just below 
here. It was then about midday, and he at once 
gave chase. It was such a chase as Kinkinnasett 
had ne’er known, as no living red man had e’er taken. 
He had failed three times, with fair range, to bring 
down the buck with his far-flying arrows, and now 


AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 237 

he tried all the artifices known to him to entrap the 
wary creatur’. When he had given it chase for 
awhile, he paused to see if the hunted buck would 
stop to look back. 

“Unlike the brown deer, many 0’ which he had 
run down ’twixt sun and sun, the star-eyed buck 
did not stop, — did not look back ! With his head 
thrown back on his shoulders, and his broad antlers 
cutting a path through the forest wherever he went, 
the very mountain resounding with his terrible 
tread, he bounded on and on, Kinkinnasett follow- 
ing as best he could. Once completely around the 
mountain did he pursue the buck, and, though he 
boasted o’ the flying foot, he ne’er got any nearer 
the fugitive. 

“ From a high perch the rival Pennacook, Sagawa, 
the Fox, looked down on the failure o’ his brother 
brave, and he resolved, notwithstanding that he, by 
doing it, broke the true code o’ hunters, to bring 
down the buck with the charmed life, or prove that 
it could not be done. Unknown to any one, he had 
that morning dipped his arrow in the oil o’ the witch- 
hazel, and under sich incantations as to ensure it the 
power to pierce the spell that might be thrown o’er 
a common shaft. 

“ Seeing the buck finally coming near him, he 
poised his stout bow that was fitted with the arrow 
of cur’ us power. The flying creatur’ was just below 


238 THE WOODRANGER. 

him, when he sent the winged shaft on its deadly 
mission. Then his joy knew no bounds, as he saw 
the star-eyed buck o’ the charmed life actually fall 
on his knees ! 

“ Sure now o’ his victim, if he could reach it 
before Kinkinnasett should come along, he leaned 
out over the rock, holding on by a shrub, so as to 
swing himself downward. Under his weight the 
bush parted from its frail support, and he was sent 
headlong toward the rocks below, to what seemed 
certain death. So thought Kinkinnasett, who had 
got near enough to see the accident to his rival. To 
his surprise, the warrior struck on the back of the 
crippled buck. Then, instead o’ throwing off his 
burden, the wounded animal sprang upon its feet 
and bounded away, with Sagawa clinging to it ! 

“ Not one whit slower did the buck flee, so Kin- 
kinnasett was still obliged to do his utmost to keep 
in sight o’ the wildest flight he had e’er seen. 

After going half-way around the mountain ag’in, 
and seeing that there was a chance to cut off the 
fleeing buck, Kinkinnasett climbed a spur o’ rock, 
and let himself down right in the pathway o’ the 
creatur’. It was a critical p’int, where a gulf o’ a 
hundred feet opened at his feet, and, on the other 
hand, a sheer wall o’ granite reached upward from 
a rocky shelf not more’n a gun-rod wide. Sure o’ 
his game now, Kinkinnasett raised his bow for his 


AROUND THE CAMP -E/RE. 


239 


last shot. Then the heels o’ the buck rattled around 
his head, and he was flung back upon the narrow 
shelf o’ rock, while the desperate animal, with 
Sagawa still on its back, leaped o’er the brink 
into the depths below ! A terrific noise followed, 
and, with the sound of rushing water ringing in his 
ears, Kinkinnasett was left in darkness. 

A party o’ Pennacooks, in search o’ the missing 
warriors, found Kinkinnasett the next day, where 
the heels o’ the star-eyed buck had sent him. It 
was seen that he must soon depart to the happy 
hunting-grounds, but he lived long enough to tell 
them o’ the fate o’ Sagawa and the strange buck. 
In the gorge, which had been dry before, a tempest 
o’ boiling water was raging, the only evidence ever 
found o’ Sagawa and the star-eyed buck. The reds 
have always believed that the pond is bottomless and 
that it would be death to the warrior who should be 
bold enough to go near it. So the tale ends in 
a tragedy, as most Indian tales do. It is natural 
they should, for their lives were tragedies in them- 
selves.” 

<‘I have been to the pond,” said Rob, ‘‘and an 
ugly place it is. A quaking bog encircles it, so one 
cannot very well get to the water. The first time 
I was there it was still enough, but the next it was 
boiling and tossing just as if there was a big fire 
under it.” 


240 


THE WOODRANGER. 


“Ah, lad,” said the Woodranger, “it is a onnat- 
ural spot, and I have no hankering to hang around it.” 

“But I should like to have seen the star-eyed 
buck,” said Johnny. “Do you suppose it was 
bigger than a moose, Woodranger } ” 

“Scurcely, lad, scurcely. I opine the reds exag- 
gerated in their descriptions. It was but human 
natur’ for ’em to do it.” 

“ Don’t you suppose we could find a moose, Wood- 
ranger ” 

“We can find one pretty soon if we want to,” 
replied the forester. “ I have heerd the call o’ 
a bull moose twice sence I was telling that Indian 
tale. It was fur away, but it is coming nearer.” 

“ Then we can see one ! Can’t we stalk it, 
Woodranger ” 

Billy Stark asked this question, but he was 
scarcely more excited than his young companions. 

“ Nay, nay, lads ! Calm yourselves. Stalking 
moose is dangerous bizness for youngsters, and I 
may be committing a sinful indiscretion in permitting 
it. You must promise me you will keep by me and 
do just as I say.” 

“We promise that, Woodranger. Lead the 
way ! ” 

“ Hush, lads ! it may not be the old fellow’s whim 
to come any nearer, though it be a fine night for 
creeping. List, lads ! ” 


AROUND THE CAME -EIRE. 


241 


In answer to the Woodranger’s request, the boys 
instantly became perfectly still, though their hearts 
beat with unwonted quickness, as they listened and 
waited. A perfect silence lay on the scene around 
them. After five minutes of this breathless still- 
ness, when a strange feeling of oppression bound 
one and all, the dull, heavy cry of an owl came from 
the beech. It was actually a relief to hear it. Then, 
from far away, was borne faintly to their ears the 
plaintive, prolonged howl of a restless wolf. This 
was answered from another direction, soon succeeded 
by the scream of a wildcat not far distant. Again 
the uneasy owl broke forth with his glum tu whooty 
tu wkoot!” 

These outcries, of nightly occurrence, had died 
away, and silence once more reigned, when a wild, 
peculiar sound filled the forest, ending more abruptly 
than it had begun, as if the creature giving it utter- 
ance had been suddenly checked in the midst of its 
cry. It seemed a sort of cross between a grunt 
and a roar, with a harsh, grating sound at the end. 
Appearing to open from a far distance, it ended 
apparently near at hand. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


** creeping” the moose. 

<‘The moose!” exclaimed Rob Rogers, unable to 
remain silent any longer. But a warning gesture 
from the Woodranger enjoined silence again, and, 
wondering what his object could be now, the boys 
obeyed without a word. 

Three minutes passed, seeming to them half an 
hour, when for the second time they heard the 
strange call. This time, however, it came from an 
opposite direction to the one before, and was farther 
away. 

“ It is as I opined,” declared the Woodranger ; 
“ there be two o’ ’em. But they be drawing together. 
It means a fight at their meeting-place.” 

“ I wish I could see it I ” exclaimed the four boys 
in the same breath and using exactly the same words. 

“ It’s a good night for moose-creeping,” mused 
the Woodranger. ‘^The wind is right for us,” wet- 
ting one of his fingers and holding it up to prove 
what he had said. I may be committing a great 
indiscretion, seeing you are mere novices in wood- 
242 


^^CREEPING^^ THE MOOSE. 


243 


craft, but if you have a mind to obey me, I’ll resk it. 
It’ll be a goodish tramp, and it has got to_ be made 
as the painter creeps. The moose is wary, — is a 
tough creatur’ when aroused. At this time o’ the 
year he is the most dangerous *0’ all the quadrupeds 
that stalk the forest. Them out to-night are on the 
war-path. Toiler me if you want to see a sight 
worth a night’s perambulating, but do it with light 
heels and a clear head.” 

The Woodranger then carefully covered the fire, 
and without further words started into the forest, 
skirting the base of the mountain with that silent, 
rapid step of his, which puzzled the boys to imitate. 
By this time the full moon was peering over the 
crest of the mountain on the east, giving the wild 
scene that peculiar lustre belonging to its light. 
Not a breath of air stirred the tree-tops, while the 
atmosphere had that clear crispness belonging to 
October. 

Speaking to his young companions only at rare 
intervals, and then in whispers, the Woodranger con- 
tinued to thread the forest like a shadow for more 
than a mile. The boys did their best to move 
as silently as he, but somehow the dry twigs always 
seemed to be where they stepped, though in all that 
distance the moccasined feet of their guide had not 
given back a sound. 

As soon as they had left the base of the mountain. 


244 


THE WOODRANGER. 


their course had been through a growth of hard 
woods, beech, maple, walnut, with the accompanying 
smaller growths of kindred nature. The surface of 
the ground was, for the most part, uneven, and often 
they were forced to make considerable detours in 
order to get around huge boulders piled in their way. 
Sometimes, too, they were forced to climb sharp 
ascents, and then descend broken declivities. Dur- 
ing all this time, no sound of the moose had reached 
their ears. 

But now the Woodranger paused on the summit of 
a rocky hill, covered with a growth of oaks, which 
was not so dense but that the moonlight threw broad 
bars of silver across their path. As if anticipating 
what was coming, the forester bent his head forward 
in a listening attitude, while his whole form remained 
as motionless as a statue. The four boys, without 
questioning his motives, did as he did, though keep- 
ing so quiet soon brought pains to every joint. 

The call of the moose was now plainly heard, and 
freighted with greater anger and impatience than 
before. Its reply came almost instantaneously this 
time, and from so near at hand that the younger lis- 
teners could not help starting with surprise. 

‘‘They are going to meet, as I thought, by the 
little pond half a mile below here,” said the Wood- 
ranger, in his cautious whisper. “ Lads, if we go on, 
it must be with a proper trailing o’ good jedgment. 


CREEPING'^ THE MOOSE. 245 

It isn’t the knack o’ a good guide to worry his com- 
rades, but knowing a lad’s wanton waste o’ care and 
patience, I don’t want you to run your heads into 
the slipping noose without proper words spoken. I 
have promised to get every one o’ you home in pre- 
sentable shape, and I ’low I think more o’ that leetle 
word ’n all the moose round old Pawtuckaway. Let 
me see your weepon, Norman.” 

Our hero handed the forester his rifle, and the 
other, holding it so the moonlight fell fairly upon it, 
looked carefully at its priming, and also scanned the 
firearm from butt to muzzle. 

*‘You put in the amount o’ powder I told you, 
lad ? ” 

did, Woodranger.” 

‘‘And rammed the lead down keerfully, properly 
wadded ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Let me take your hand, lad.” 

When the guide had taken the proffered hand and 
held it. fully a minute, he loosened his clasp, and, 
giving back Norman his rifle, declared : 

“ You’ll do, lad. Robby I know o’ old ; but it 
won’t do any harm for me to look at your priming, 
Robby. Often one’s futur’ depends on the way he 
has placed a grain o’ powder.” 

Rob’s weapon passing satisfactory examination, he 
then looked at the guns of the Stark boys, both of 


246 


THE WOODRANGER. 


which he re-touched with a few grains of powder 
from his horn, after which he looked closely at the 
flints. As he had done with Norman, he held the 
hand of each, and found Billy labouring under great 
excitement. Saying nothing of this, the Woodranger 
continued : 

You will walk next to me, Norman, then Johnny 
and Billy, with Robby to kiver the rear. Remember 
under no circumstances are you to fire until I give 
the signal. I know o’ a good kiver for us, which we 
will reach at our next perambulation. The breeze 
still comes from the west-sou’ west, and the night is 
favourable for you to see an amazement you’ll ne’er 
disremember, unless that ol’ bull disapp’ints us. You 
ne’er can tell what a bull moose is going to do next. 
Mebbe this one is mad enough to foller to the eend. 
Creep ! ” 

With the utterance of the last word, the Wood- 
ranger stealthily advanced again, his companions at 
his heels in the order mentioned. To Norman, more 
than to his young companions, this noiseless march 
through the wilderness was something strange and 
thrilling, though he had never felt calmer in his life. 
While he had never seen one, he knew that the 
moose was the monarch of the New England forests. 
If the Woodranger had shown unusual caution in 
allowing them to accompany him so far, he under- 
stood the reason underlying his action, and he re- 


CREEPING^' THE MOOSE, 


247 


solved it should be no fault of his if the other ever 
had reason to regret the risk he was taking. 

He was in the midst of these reflections when the 
forester again stopped, and motioned for his com- 
panions to do the same. They had now gained the 
edge of a thicket of hemlocks, a few rods in length, 
which grew on a slight eminence of land. Through 
this brush barrier was to be seen, here and there, 
a glimmer of water. But they had not taken a sec- 
ond glance about them before the cry of one of the 
moose, now clearer and more startling than ever, 
was heard. 

He’s near by ! ” whispered Rob. “ I wonder 
where — ” 

The Woodranger checked him with a motion of 
the hand. Then he dropped silently upon his hands 
and knees, and began to crawl into the midst of the 
hemlocks, beckoning for the others to follow. Noth- 
ing loath, they soon gained his side. At that mo- 
ment a loud splash in the water was heard. Then 
they gazed on a sight well worth all the pains they 
had taken. 

Outlined in the clear moonlight, with a vividness 
which exaggerated his size and made him seem to 
the boys like a monster beast, the moose stood in 
plain sight of the curious watchers. The water 
of the pond reaching nearly to his knees, he had 
thrown his antlered head up, expanded his nostrils, 


248 


THE WOODRANGER. 


and sniffed the still air for danger, or an answer to 
his challenge. 

As they watched the giant creature, he swayed his 
head to and fro with a sort of seesaw motion, with- 
out moving the body or limbs. At that moment 
Norman felt the Woodranger’s hand laid on his 
arm, and, as the grasp tightened, he was led, as if 
by intuition, to look toward the forest on their left. 
He could scarcely suppress an exclamation of 
amazement, as he looked on an exact counterpart 
of the first moose, except that the newcomer, 
which was moving through the growth at a sham- 
bling trot, was larger and more fierce-looking than 
the other. 

How the ponderous and ungainly creature, with 
an apparently clumsy, unwieldy gait, could move 
with such ease and silence, was a , mystery to the 
young onlookers. But, as noiselessly as he had 
come, it was certain his rival had been warned of 
his approach. The head of the waiting moose stopped 
its gyrations, but the grating of his teeth was 
plainly heard. 

When within fifty yards of the moose in the 
water, the newcomer halted. He was now nearly 
opposite our little party, and would have afforded a 
good mark for the Woodranger’s rifle. But his 
weapon, as well as those of the boys, was single- 
barrelled. Should he prove successful with his shot. 


^^CREEPING^^ THE MOOSE. 249 

it would in all probability arouse the other moose to 
attack them, and prudence demanded that he move 
with extreme caution in challenging two such foes. 
Then, too, he had a desire nearly as strong as that 
of his young companions to see what the fierce 
animals would do to each other. 

At that moment, however, a change suddenly came 
over the attitude of the smaller moose, which began 
to sniff the air in an uneasy manner. The meaning 
of this was made apparent by the words of the 
Woodranger, spoken in a cautious whisper : 

The wind has changed ! He has scented us. 
We are in for an amazement ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


THE BATTLE OF THE MONARCHS. 

The boys understood at once their danger. Hap- 
pily for them, however, the situation was quickly 
changed by a short, hoarse, rasping roar from the 
larger moose. This cry, which made the young, 
hunters tremble, brought from the other animal an 
answer even more terrific, leaving no doubt of his 
acceptance of the challenge. 

What followed baffles detailed description. Re- 
newed splashing came from the edge of the pond. 
The big, staring eyes of the second moose glowered 
with rage and jealousy, his teeth champed together 
with a harsh, grating sound, his hair stood erect, 
while he lowered his horns so the points of his 
mighty head stood out in front like the lance of 
a doughty knight of old. Then his ponderous form 
shot through the bushes, immediately following 
which the breathless listeners heard another splash 
of water, another grunt of defiance, a clash, like 
the ringing of many swords, and the battle of the 
monarchs was begun. 


250 


THE BATTLE OF THE MONARCHS. 2$ I 

The scene that succeeded was one never to be 
forgotten by the witnesses. It was evidently from 
the start a combat to the death, and its whole aspect 
was appalling. The clashing of their huge antlers 
could have been heard for miles on that clear, still, 
frosty night. Reeling back from the first shock, 
the furious antagonists rallied with redoubled vigour, 
swaying from side to side, twisting their ponderous 
necks, each striving with limb and body, head and 
antlers, to overpower his rival. 

Such a struggle could not last long. Soon the 
smaller moose was pushed back toward the shore 
of the pond, whose water was churned into foam by 
the combatants. It was already evident that the 
other was to be the victor. Then, above the clash- 
ing of the terrible horns, sounded a bellow of pain. 
The huge antlers of one of the opposing monarchs 
was now crimsoned with blood. The next moment, 
with another roar of rage and suffering, the other 
, staggered sidewise, and then was hurled to the 
ground with a shock which made the earth tremble 
for rods away. 

With a grunt of triumph the victorious brute, 
shaking aloft his cruel, reeking horns, looked around, 
as if expecting another enemy ready for him. Save 
for his heavy breathing, not a sound broke the still- 
ness of the scene. As far as the little group of spec- 
tators could see, the fallen monarch lay perfectly still. 


252 


THE WOODRANGER. 


The victor stood under the edge of the forest 
overhanging the pond, where the bars of moonlight 
showed his gigantic form plainly to the concealed 
hunters. 

He scents us ! ” whispered the Woodranger. 

He’ll find us in a jiffy, onless he takes it into his 
head to go away, which it ain’t at all likely he will 
do in his ugly mood. No, he won’t run off now, 
and we don’t want him to if he would. Stand firm, 
lads, and when I give the word fire. Don’t waste 
your powder.” 

The big animal had begun to roll its heavy head, 
and show signs of greater uneasiness. 

It’s too far to resk a shot,” muttered the Wood- 
ranger, but not loud enough to be heard any distance. 
‘‘ The time to take him will be when he crosses that 
bar o’ moonlight yonder. Norman, hold your shot. 
’T won’t be best for all to fire at first, as one can 
ne’er tell what a bullet is going to do with a moose. 
Be ready for the signal, Rob, and kiver that dark 
spot behind the fore leg. Johnny and Billy follow. 
Now for an amazement ! ” 

As he , finished speaking in his low tone, the 
forester drew the barrel of his rifle across one of the 
small hemlocks, making a noise like the scraping of 
a moose’s horn against a tree. 

He had no sooner done this than the moose, 
evidently believing it to be the movement of another 


THE BATTLE OF THE MONARCHS. 253 

rival, gave a deep grunt, and started noiselessly 
toward the little group in the thicket. Knowing 
that the critical moment was at hand, the boys 
clutched their weapons with firmer holds, and the 
three who were to fire at the Woodranger’s signal 
raised themselves, as silently as possible, on one 
knee, and held their rifles in readiness for the 
word. 

When his shoulder comes under the moonlight,” 
whispered the Woodranger. But, as if knowing by 
some strange intuition that it was the danger-line, 
the moose paused in the shadows of the deep forest 
before reaching the little opening. For three or 
four minutes he stood there peering into the space 
around him, listening for some sound to guide him. 

At last, as if intending to circle the dangerous 
ground, as is the habit of the creature, before charg- 
ing an unknown enemy, the moose began to move 
off into the deeper woods. The boys felt their 
muscles relax, though big lumps had come into their 
throats and they could hear each other breathe. It 
was a disappointment to see the big fellow go away 
without trying to get him. 

The Woodranger was evidently as anxious as they, 
and he had no intention of losing the opportunity of 
capturing the monster, or to risk a more unfavourable 
situation! Again he scraped his rifle barrel across, 
the hemlock, and then he gave expression to a grunt, 


254 


THE WOODRANGER. 


imitating the moose so perfectly and sounding so 
near that the four boys gave starts of terror in spite 
of their schooling. But this was forgotten in the 
exciting scenes quickly following. 

The moose stopped abruptly in his silent advance, 
turned sharply and, regardless of the consequence, 
bounded forward with all of his former rage. 

Ever on the alert, Rob Rogers was ready for the 
monster, and as his huge form dashed into the open- 
ing his rifle rang out on the night air. A moment 
later the weapons of the Stark boys pealed forth 
simultaneously. But the moon makes an uncertain 
light for the best marksman, and if the boys hit 
the desperate animal, their shots did not in the least 
check his advance. With more fury than ever he 
charged on the little party in the hemlocks. 

Norman, feeling that it was time for him to act, 
had raised his rifle to take aim at the next favourable 
opportunity, when he felt a thrill of horror at the 
sound of another moose at his elbow. 

The Woodranger had already heard the cautious 
movements of the moose in the rear, and its low, 
harsh grunt had barely fallen on Norman’s ears 
before the forester exclaimed : 

“ Look to the other, lad ! I’ll care for the creatur’ 
in front.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


TEST SHOTS THE SNOW-STORM. 

It was indeed a moment fraught with great peril 
to the little party. As if it were not enough to meet 
the enraged monster in front without the appearance 
of this second giant, stealing upon their rear so 
swiftly and silently ! 

Quickly understanding the situation, and vexed 
to think he had missed the moose at which he 
had fired, Rob Rogers began to reload his gun 
with a dexterity an older woodsman might have 
envied. In a trice he had poured a stiff charge 
of powder into the barrel of his weapon, and, as 
brief as was the interval, he wasf actually dropping 
a bullet down its throat as the ringing sound of the 
Woodranger’s firearm awoke the silence. In answer 
to '' Old Danger’s ” loud alarm, the oncoming moose 
gave a terrific roar of pain, staggered for a moment 
in his advance, and then fell in a huddled heap a few 
yards away. 

Meanwhile Norman had not been idle. Knowing 
255 


256 


THE WOODRANGER. 


that not only his life but the safety of his compan- 
ions as well depended on his efforts, he calmly faced 
the newcomer. The report of the forester’s rifle had 
scarcely rung out before that of his own succeeded. 
Then there was a second outburst of pain, a crash 
in the undergrowth, and Norman suddenly felt him- 
self hurled fiercely to the earth. 

The charge of the dying moose was its last 
movement, for it fell near the young ranger, one 
long fore limb over his body and the bulky neck 
over his head ! 

Norman’s killed ! ” cried Billy Stark, the first to 
break the silence following the end of the startling 
fight. “ The moose — ” 

God spare him ! ” cried the Woodranger, ignor- 
ing everything else, as he sprang to the side of 
the unconscious youth. With swift action he lifted 
the moose’s leg, and gently dragged our hero away 
from the body of the dead creature. Then he fell 
upon his knees over him and began to rub his hands 
and chafe his temple. I’ll ne’er lift head again if 
he be dead. Look up, lad ! Open your eyes. Smile 
once a-more ! ” 

The other boys had now gathered about the 
spot, upon which the pale moon threw a weird light, 
making their forms look phantom-like, as they flitted 
to and fro. 

“ Is he dead ? ” asked Rob, in a low tone. 


TEST SHOTS— THE SNOW-STORM. 257 

I pray not, lad. Get me a leetle water from the 
pond.” 

Rob lost no time in obeying the simple command, 
and then, as the Woodranger bathed Norman’s brow 
with the cooling liquid, he exclaimed, happily : 

He lives, lad ! Thank God I am not his slayer 
in dragging him down here.” Then, as if this were 
not sufficiently plain, he added : “ It would have 
seemed like wanton killing for me to have ’lowed 
him to be taken away in that keerless manner. I 
oughter knowed ! I oughter knowed ! ” 

The strong man showed great emotion, and as 
Norman started to a sitting posture he caught him 
in his arms, crying : 

F orgi’ me, laddie, forgi’ me ! Say that you are 
not hurt and that you forgi’ an ol’ man’s keerless- 
ness. I love thee none the less, lad, that I ’lowed 
you to fall in sich a trap.” 

I am not hurt, Woodranger,” said Norman, now 
able to think and act clearly. ‘‘The old fellow did 
give me a hard thwack over the head, but I think I 
came out of it better than he did. Is the other one 
dead } ” 

“ I think I may be safe in saying so, seeing 01’ 
Danger spoke his purtiest piece. But that was an 
awful indiscretion o’ mine. I do not wish to dis- 
semble, but I was deceived o’er that other creatur’. 
I had no idee he had the life to do that.” 


258 


THE WOODRANGER. 


‘‘ Do you think it is the moose which was beaten 
by the other on the shore of the pond ? ” asked Rob, 
who showed great joy to find that his friend had 
come off so well, after all. 

“ I think so, lad. He wasn’t so hard hit as we 
s’posed. But you may see for yourself.” 

Taking the hint, Rob ran out to where the battle 
between the giants had taken place, and though he 
found ample evidence of the fight, he failed to find 
the body of the smaller moose. There could be no 
longer any doubt. He had rallied sufficiently to 
make his attack on Norman. . It was a light-hearted 
group of moose hunters which gathered about the 
huge forms of the monarchs of the wilderness. 

“ You have got a knack at shooting, lad,” said the 
Woodranger, addressing Norman, “or you could 
ne’er have fired a shot like that. Your life depended 
on it. I had to use my ammunition on the other, 
or it might have fared ill with us from him. Mind 
you, I say might have fared ill, for no man can fore- 
tell what a mad moose may do.” 

“To think,” said Rob, who had not recovered 
from his chagrin at the thought that he had missed 
his mark, “that I should have blundered so. Don’t 
blame me, Woodranger, but I never felt more certain 
of my aim.” 

“ Ne’er chide thyself, lad. Older gunners than 
you have missed their moose. But ere we mourn 


TEST SHOTS— THE SNOW-STORM. 


259 

let us see if you did not after all send the bit o’ lead 
where it oughter done its duty.” 

Upon examination, it was found that all three of 
the bullets fired by the three boys had hit the ani- 
mal, and one of them had touched a vital spot. This 
proved to be Rob’s bullet beyond dispute, so that he 
felt in better spirits. 

‘‘ You see, lad, you have no reason to complain. 
You did remarkably well ; but a moose, like a red, 
dies hard. Perk up, lad ! it’s myself who desarves 
the chiding for throwing away my lead on a creatur’ 
a’ready death-struck. They be monster moose. 
This a-one will not weigh less’n thirteen hundred, 
while the other is scurcely a hundredweight lighter.” 

Continuing to talk while he kept his hands busy, 
the Woodranger soon removed the antlers of the 
giant brutes. The horns from the larger, as near as 
they could estimate, were over five feet, and the 
blades were over a foot in width. This pair had 
twenty-six points, while those of the other, but a 
trifle smaller, had twenty-four. Both pairs were in 
good condition, and the boyish possessors felt ex- 
tremely proud of them, it having been voted that 
Norman should have those belonging to the moose 
he had killed, while Rob seemed entitled to the 
others. The Woodranger waived all claim to them. 

‘‘You fairly ’arned ’em, lads. I have memory 
sufficient o’ this amazement without sich reminders.” 


26 o 


THE WOODRANGER. 


Altogether it was an adventure none of them would 
be likely to forget, but it had ended happily, and all 
were pleased with their night’s work. It was past 
midnight before they got back to their camping-place 
under the cliff of old Pawtuckaway, and the boys 
were glad of an opportunity to rest. Both moose 
had been dressed by the Woodranger, and the meat, 
after reserving a generous portion to take to camp, 
had been spitted upon trees, whence they could get 
it later. 

The sky was then overcast, and inside of two hours 
it was snowing hard, so that four or five inches fell 
before sunrise. It continued to snow until noon, 
and the hunters remained in camp under such poor 
shelter as they had hastily raised. The tedium of 
the occasion was removed by the Woodranger’s 
quaint stories of forest life, of which he seemed to 
have no end. His keen power of observation was 
apparent in all that he said, and the boys learned 
more that day than they had ever dreamed before of 
the lives and habits of the dumb creatures of the 
wilderness. That afternoon they had a grand hunt 
for deer, succeeding in getting two fine specimens. 

The next day the boys were glad to return to their 
homes, loaded down with as much game as they 
could carry, with several loads carefully placed where 
the wild beasts could not reach it, for them to go 
after whenever they should find it convenient. While 


TEST SHOTS— THE SNOW-STORM. 


261 


we are speaking of the matter, it may be well to 
say that this was done at one trip, through the kind- 
ness of Mr. Stark, who lent the boys his oxen to 
draw home the load. There were roads and cart- 
paths to within two or three miles of Pawtuckaway, 
which they followed with the team, making it easier 
to go and come, though there had to be a goodly 
amount of lugging and tugging to be done at the 
end of the route. 

Of course warm welcomes greeted them at home, 
and Norman was relieved to find that nothing had 
been seen or heard of Gun wad. However, they were 
all to be forcibly reminded of him a few days later, 
when one of the most disgraceful affairs which blot 
the history of Old Harrytown took place. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE BURNING OF CHRISTO’S WIGWAM. 

The Monday following his return from the hunt 
Norman resumed work at Mr. Stark’s, and on his 
way there in the morning he saw Christo, the pray- 
ing Indian, sitting in his doorway smoking his 
blackened pipe with complacent ease. As he had 
not seen the red man for some time, he stopped to 
speak to him, little realising under what different 
circumstances they were next to meet. Though the 
Pennacook was inclined to be morose over the mis- 
fortunes of himself and his race, he had learned to 
like the lad. On this occasion Christo seemed very 
glad to see him, and asked him particularly about 
his hunt to Pawtuckaway, and his eye kindled with 
some of its old-time fire as he spoke of the deer 
hunts his tribe had made in that vicinity in the years 
gone by. 

“Were the deer very plenty there then, Christo ? ” 

“ Many moose ; many bear ; good hunting 
grounds.” 

Though he usually carried his dinner, that day 
262 


THE BURNING OF CHRISTO'S WIGWAM. 263 

Norman went home for his noonday meal. He was 
seated at the table, eating, when he and his grand- 
father saw Gunwad, with two strange men, coming 
up the road. Expecting that the deer reeve was 
about to pay them another visit, they were relieved 
to see him keep on past the house. When he was 
about to pass out of sight, however, he stopped in 
the middle of the road, to shake his fist toward them 
and stamp his foot in evident rage. 

He disna want tae cum within reach o’ my staff ! ” 
exclaimed Mr. MacDonald, moving uneasily on his 
seat. 

Never mind him, grandfather ; he is not worth 
a thought.” 

“ He’s a fit hireling for the British usurpers ! ” 

Nay, grandfather, now you do an honest body of 
men an injustice. Gunwad is no more the represen- 
tative of the Tyngs men than — ” 

<‘Tut, tut, laddie! I houp the Woodranger has 
got nane o’ his simple jabberings into yer noddle.” 

I try to do all justice, grandfather. It is possi- 
ble the English will show that they have better 
rights here than we and our friends. It is a foolish 
quarrel, and it seems to me we are being made into 
catspaws for those higher in power. But don’t let 
anything I have said worry you. Mr. Stark tells 
me the Tyngs men are planning to raise their 
meeting-house the last of the week. He is going 


264 


THE WOODRANGER. 


to the raising, and I think I shall. I believe it is 
the duty of all to turn out, for they have had a hard 
time in getting it.” 

“ A’ their ain faut, laddie. They hae nae business 
here. Tm feart ye hae got ideas intae yer heid that 
are nae healthy.” 

Leaving Norman to return to Mr. Stark’s as soon 
as he had finished his dinner, let us keep in sight of 
Gunwad, whose purpose in coming to Namaske was 
to make another attempt to find and arrest Christo. 
He had good reasons to believe he should be success- 
ful this time, as he had been informed from a reliable 
source that the red man was again at home. 

Accordingly, though he approached with some- 
what more boldness than before, he advanced with 
some caution toward the humble abode, which again 
had every appearance of being deserted. 

If the red fool has run away this time I’ll scour 
th’ woods till I find him ! ” muttered the deer reeve, 
as he continued to draw nearer with his companions. 
A little later he was no longer in doubt. Christo 
was again missing! 

“The coppery sneak somehow got wind I was 
cornin’ I ” he exclaimed. “ But he can’t be fur away ; 
he’s hidin’ somewhere in th’ woods. Mebbe he’s 
watchin’ us, and thinks he can keep foolin’ me in this 
way. I calculate two can play at some sich game. 
I’ll tear down his ol’ shanty afore I’ll go back empty- 


THE BURNING OF CHRISTO'S WIGWAM. 265 

handed this time. I hev a scheme thet’ll call him 
in. Jes’ ye wait a minnit.” 

The deer reeve then scraped together a few leaves 
and small sticks from the edge of the forest, and with 
his flint and steel and tinder-box, which every man 
carried in those days, he quickly set fire to the 
combustible pile. 

“ Ain’t ye afeerd ye’ll excite the onery cuss to fire 
on us } ” asked one of his companions, who could see 
that this was a dangerous course to pursue. 

It would be the dearest shot he ever fired,” re- 
plied Gunwad. “ Get me some more underbrush, 
so the fire’ll rise higher. Ha, ha! nobody would 
shed enny tears ef th’ ol’ bark hull itself should 
burn.” 

He had barely uttered the words when a puff of 
wind caught up the pile of burning matter and car- 
ried it through the opening leading into the cabin. 
Fanned then by the wind, the blaze spread rapidly 
right and left. 

»For the Lord’s sake, Gunwad I ” cried his com- 
panions, ‘‘put it out before the old hut burns up 1 ” 

Then, seeing the deer reeve showed no inclination 
to stop the fire, one of them started forward to do so, 
when Gunwad caught him by the arm and held him 
back, saying : 

« Let it burn, Bedlock ! It’s the best sight I have 
seen for many a day. If that don’t call th’ red fool 


266 


THE WOODRANGER. 


home, I don’t know what will. Let’s get back where 
we sha’n’t ’tract so much ’tention.” 

Gunwad seemed really pleased at the result of his 
work, and he watched the fire streaming higher and 
higher, until the home of Christo was fairly enveloped 
in the flames. While the three stood gazing on the 
burning wigwam, without lifting a hand to extinguish 
the fire, new actors appeared on the scene. 

The newcomers were none other than Norman 
and the Woodranger, the latter having come along 
just as our hero was starting to return to Mr. Stark’s. 
They had barely exchanged greetings before the fire 
arrested their attention, and, realising the direction 
from whence it appeared, they hurried toward the 
place. But they reached the scene too late to save 
the dwelling, which, being little more than a bark 
shell, had burned quickly. 

The presence of Gunwad, who had not been able 
to get out of sight in season to escape the eyes of 
the forester, suggested to him that the deer reeve 
had knowledge of the cause of the fire, and he said : 

Did you, like us, Goodman Gunwad, get here too 
late to save the red man’s home ” 

“’Pears to me yer eyes oughter tell ye,” replied 
the deer reeve, who moved uneasily under the other’s 
close scrutiny. “ I reckon there won’t be any tears 
shed over th’ cleanin’ up. Th’ fool might hev stayed 
at home.” 


THE BURNING OF CHRISTO'S WIGWAM. 26 y 
Where is Christo ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know as I’m obleeged to keep track o’ 
th’ red nigger.” 

I can ne’er dissemble, Gunwad,” said the Wood- 
ranger, with more directness, as if the truth was 
evident to him, I hope you ne’er had any hand in 
this. I say it for your sake, and for the sake o’ 
every man in Harrytown.” 

‘‘ Bah ! Th’ ol’ shell weren’t worth what has already 
been said. The red was never overfriendly to me, 
or any white man, for that matter, except it was yeT 

This insinuation was lost upon the Woodranger, 
who continued to make the deer reeve uneasy by his 
steady look. 

‘‘It isn’t the worth o’ the building, Gunwad, but 
the principle at stake. It was all the abiding-place 
the last o’ the red race had. Here, in sight o’ his 
ancestral home, he had hoped to pass the remainder 
o’ his natural days in peace. So he told me. I can- 
not dissemble, Gunwad, but to me it seems a greater 
wrong to fire the simple dwelling o’ this untutored 
red than it would be to set torch to the proudest 
home in the king’s land. Alack a man ! I’m sorry 
to see this and to know — ” 

“ As it happens, I did not set fire to th’ miserable 
ol’ wigwam ! ” broke in Gunwad, who moved away, 
muttering under his breath words he was careful the 
other should not hear. 


268 


THE WOODRANGER. 


I am glad to hear you say that, Gunwad, for I 
feared me you had committed an indiscretion which 
would work you naught but evil. If you know how 
the fire caught, I would advise you to see the unhappy 
red man, and explain it to him.” 

I shall do nothing of the kind ! ” exclaimed the 
deer reeve, who the next minute disappeared from 
the scene with his companions following at his heels. 

Tm sorry o’ this,” said the Woodranger to Nor- 
man, when the others had left them standing alone 
by the smoking ruins. I fear me it bodes harm to 
the white settlers along the valley. It is just sich 
amazements as this, as keeps the reds on edge.” 

‘‘But there is peace with the Indians now. Wood 
ranger, and has been since Lovewell’s victory over 
the Pequawketts.” 

“ Soon to be broken, lad, soon to be broken, I fear 
me. Alack a man ! if the whites would remember 
that they are civilised, and not lower themselves to 
the level o’ savages in treating with ’em, far less 
o’ innocent blood would be shed. But there’s no 
reason in an angry man’s heart, and one like Gun- 
wad will kindle more fires than a hundred better 
men can put out.” 

“ Gunwad has gone down by the house,” said Nor- 
man, who could not forget that fact. “ I hope he 
will not trouble grandfather, who is easily aroused 
at sight of him.” 


THE BURNING OF CHRISTO WIGWAM. 269 

I read your thoughts, lad. Go. on to your work, 
and I will see this Gunwad does not vex the old 
man.” 

Thank you, Woodranger. I shall feel safe if you 
are near him. I suppose I must go on to Mr. Stark’s. 
The days are short at this season of the year.’^ 


CHAPTER XXXL 


THE WOODRANGER SURPRISES MR. MACDONALD. 

Though the Woodranger started away from the 
scene of the burned wigwam with Norman, he lin- 
gered somewhat in sight of the place, as if loath to 
depart. Even after he passed down the road from 
sight of the spot, he cast anxious glances back, as if 
he were looking for the homeless Pennacook. 

I must try and see him, and counsel with him,” 
he said, aloud. I am sure the whites will gladly 
make his loss good to him. But, alack a man ! it is 
not that. It is the arrow o’ wrong which will enter 
his heart. He cannot understand that one Gunwad 
does not represent the white population, as a red 
may represent a whole tribe o’ his race.” 

As the Woodranger came in sight of Mr. Mac- 
Donald’s home, he saw the old Highlander standing 
in the middle of the road, looking anxiously in the 
direction whence he was coming. At sight of him, 
the other started to retreat toward the house ; then, 
as if thinking better of it, he remained by the side of 
the highway, saying, as the forester approached : 

270 


WOODRANGER SURPRISES MACDONALD. 2/1 

“What means yon fire, Maister Woodranger ? I 
felt it was a hame burnin’.” 

“ So it was, my good man, and no home less than 
that of Christo, the praying Indian.” 

“ I’m sad for Christo, though I ne’er felt weel ac- 
quaint wi’ the strange coloured man. Say, Maister 
Woodranger, I houp there was nae unfair work in it.” 

“ So do I, Mr. MacDonald. I trust that Gunwad 
has passed by in peace 1 ” 

“ He did, maister. I dinna like that man.” 

“Not the best o’ company, sir. I trust you are 
feeling well to-day.” 

“As weel as an auld man should expect. This 
weather is tryin’ on sic’ a broken-doon frame as 
mine.” 

“ Nay, my good friend, you are not one who should 
talk o’ a broken-down frame. You are ne’er an ol’ 
man.” 

“ Auld in sorrow, sir, if nae in years.” 

“That is because you live too much in the past, 
my good friend. Live so the light o’ the futur’ shall 
build beacon-fires along your trail. He who lives in 
the past lives a life o’ double sorrow. It makes him 
ol’ in his prime. It has made you ol’ in your sixties, 
when sich a stalwart frame as thine should be 
erect as the pine.” 

There was truth in the bold declaration, and even 
in the bitterness of his heart the old Highlander 


2/2 


THE WOODRANGER. 


knew it. But to be told the fact in that sudden 
manner amazed him. It was some time before he 
could manage to exclaim : 

“ Who taught thee that, man ^ ” 

“ I did not have to look to man to Tarn it. The 
leetle, nimble-footed squirrel, his merry heart the 
target for every thoughtless youth, taught me the 
blessed secret. The bird has retold it in his song. 
I read it in the heart o’ natur’. Man don’t want to 
go to the school o’ civilisation to be told the things 
which make life worth living. Your days have been 
all yesterdays. You have fought the battle o’ Glen- 
coe till you have wrung your heart dry ! ” 

“Ye lie, man! I hae a mind to beat the truth 
into yer thick heid wi’ my staff. What dae ye ken 
o’ sorrow ? ” 

The Woodranger, appearing perfectly indifferent 
to his excitement, replied in his slow, simple manner : 

“ All that any man knows who has seen all that is 
dear to him slip away, — his heart plucked out by 
piecemeal, and put back all bleeding and torn, to heal 
as it might. Man is a poor, misguided fool who con- 
tinually prods his wounds, that he may let others see 
’em bleed. Do not think me ungrateful, sir. I love 
thee as a son might a father.” 

“ I canna understand you ! ” muttered the old 
Highlander. “I — I think ye be a MacDonald I ” 

“ As if that was the highest compliment you could 


WOODRANGER SURPRISES MACDONALD, 273 

pay me. I have no knack o’ dissembling; if you 
mean I’m lacking in common sense, then out with it, 
man. What availed all the boasts o’ your MacDon- 
alds } They were the weakest in their strength, the 
most foolish in their wisdom ! You remind me o’ an 
oak, which one stroke o’ the lightning blasted while 
it stood proudly defying its wrath. Pardon me again, 
sir, for my tongue does babble like a brook, which 
to be made useful, must be dammed.” 

Mr. MacDonald, used all his life to speak his mind 
without being contradicted, was dumfounded. At 
first, he was angered, then perplexed, and then he 
finally managed to say, though his words were scarcely 
in keeping with the trend of the conversation ; 

“ Ye’re a Scotchman } ” 

If I am, it was my birthright ; if I am not, I do 
not bewail the fact.” 

‘‘A Scotchman,” resumed the Highlander, <^and 
yet gaun amang the boastful Britons, an’ carryin’ a 
French gun ; ” as if this last fact was the greatest 
sin. 

‘‘The oak growing beside the poplar, sir, is none 
the less an oak. I’ve seen a birch growing from the 
rotten side o’ a maple, where a seed had somehow 
lodged, but it was still a birch, as pure as the mother 
stock. I habitate with all men equally, and not less 
with my red brother whose ways are peaceful. As to 
carrying a French rifle, I cannot dissemble. Did 


274 


THE WOODRANGER. 


they make one more to my liking I should not be 
above carrying one. As to the weapon I have here, 
which I am free to confess is a loved companion, it is 
a bit o’ a consait o’ mine. The stock, it may be, was 
made by a French er, as I took it from the hand o’ 
Father Ralle, as the red-hearted priest fell on the day 
his horde was routed at Norridgewock. The barrel 
was sadly twisted, and not liking the thing, I had one 
wrought by the cunning o’ Old Seth. It may be he 
did follow something the Trencher’s style, but he 
was not ashamed to put his mark on it. That tells 
whether it be French or not,” holding up, as he 
spoke, the firearm so Mr. MacDonald could read, 
engraved on a tablet sunk into the stock, the initials 
‘‘S. P.” 

Those letters stood for the name of the best 
known man in New England at that time, Seth 
Pomroy, “the Gunmaker of Northampton,” after- 
wards noted as a soldier in the Indian wars and the 
Revolution. Many of the brave men of the Wood- 
ranger’s days carried rifles of his make, which were 
not excelled by any that could be found. 

At that moment, Rilma, who had been watching 
the two from the door, rushed forward with childish 
impetuosity to greet the Woodranger, but her grand- ^ 
father would fain have kept her back. 

“ Bide in the hoose, lassie. I will soon cum in 
mysel’.” 


WOODRANGER SURPRISES MACDONALD. 275 

But I want to speak to Woodranger, grand- 
father/’ 

“ Back, I say ! A man who openly boasts o’ 
seekin’ the companionship o’ wild beasts in prefer- 
ence to men is nae fit company for sic a wee lassie 
as thee.” 

Rilma retreated, as ordered, though she could not 
help showing her disappointment. The Woodranger 
turned silently away, and without another word 
started down the road. But Mr. MacDonald called 
to him : 

Had on, man ! I havena said my last wird wi’ 
ye yet. I wud question ye much more.” 

The forester stopped, saying in his simple, straight- 
forward way : 

Your incivility surprises me, sir. It is true I 
have habitated with the wild creatur’s o’ the forest, 
but in all my perambulating I ne’er met wolf with 
less o’ humanity, nor bear with more o’ brute than 
you exhibit in chiding the child o’ thy only son. It 
may be I’m unsuited to mingle in the genteel ways 
o’ civilisation, but I’ve I’arned what you have not, 
that the finest natur’ has the most sensitive heart. 
I may have forgotten the leetle book Taming I got, 
but I have picked up a leetle o’ the wisdom that 
wells from the springs o’ natur’. An’ while man’s 
Taming is e’er open to error, natur’ is ne’er at 
fault.” 


2/6 


THE WOODRANGER. 


The Highlander showed that he felt the merited 
rebuke, and his next words were milder : 

“ If I ought to cane ye for yer insolence I’ll over- 
look ye. If ye care to speak to the strange man, 
lassie, who is a saint or a deil, ye may.” 

I do want to speak to him, grandfather. I love 
him as if he was my own father.” 

At the utterance of this simple speech, which was 
but the honest conviction of an unsophisticated 
heart, she ran swiftly to his side, and to the amaze- 
ment of the old Highlander he clasped her in his 
arms. While he stood there trembling between 
suppressed excitement and wonder he seemed to 
have suddenly become possessed of a new idea, for 
he asked with great earnestness : 

Ye’re a Scotchman! Did ye ken my son 
Alick } ” 

I may have met him, sir ! ” was the surprising 
reply. 

“ May have met him, man } ” fairly shrieked the 
other. Can ye say that and be so quiet } My 
Alick was a bonnie boy, the noblest o’ the Mac- 
Donalds.” 

“ Which may be a poor meed o’ praise, sir. But 
I do not wish to pain a father’s heart. Nothing 
that I can say will mend the broken dish. There, 
child, I must be gone.” 

The latter sentence was addressed to Rilma, and, 


WOODRANGER SURPRISES MACDONALD. 2 // 

kissing her, he tenderly disengaged her hands, and 
before she or her grandfather could speak had dis- 
appeared around a turn in the road below the house. 

Run after him, lassie ! ” cried the Highlander. 

Tell him to cum back. I fain wud ask him mair 
o’ Alick.” 

Nothing loath she obeyed, but when she reached 
the place where he had last been seen, the Wood- 
ranger was not in sight. Disappointed she returned 
to the house. 

I dinna read him ! ” muttered the old man. 
“ An’ ye say there was tears in his e’en as he let ye 
go, lassie A strange man surely.” Then, after a 
pause, he added : He maun be a MacDonald ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


ZACK BITLOCK’s DEER. 

Norman was returning from Mr. Stark’s at the 
close of the day, when, as he was passing the path 
leading from the road to the ruins of Christo’s wig- 
wam, he fancied he heard some one speak. At a 
loss to know the meaning of the sound, he ap- 
proached the little clearing about the Pennacook’s 
home. As he drew nearer the cries became plainer, 
though not more intelligible, and he discovered the 
dark figure of Christo, the homeless warrior, standing 
at the edge of the forest. 

Half-concealed by the deep shadows falling about 
him, the Pennacook was looking intently at the little 
pile of ashes which marked his ruined home, and his 
right arm moved slowly to and fro, while he con- 
tinued his low, intense speech, which Norman could 
not fail to know was expressive of the deepest feeling, 
though he could not understand a word. 

‘‘I wish Woodranger was here,” thought our hero 
as he stood a silent spectator of the dramatic scene. 
‘‘ I dare not break in upon him.” 

278 



“ HIS RIGHT ARM MOVED SLOWLY TO AND FRO.” 



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ZACK BITLOCK^S DEER. 


279 


These thoughts had barely shaped themselves in 
his mind, when the Indian, with a wider and fiercer 
sweep of his arm, suddenly turned away, and pulling 
his blanket closer about his tall form, disappeared in 
the forest, and never again was he seen in the vicinity 
of Namaske. 

Norman resumed his homeward journey with a 
heavy heart. 

‘‘ I am sorry for him. I wish it had not happened. 
If Woodranger had only been here he might have 
pacified him.” 

Upon reaching his home, he found his grandfather 
still labouring under great excitement over the con- 
versation he had had with the Woodranger. 

He’s a strange man, laddie. I dinna read him.” 

“What did he say, grandfather.? ” asked Norman, 
who was both surprised and interested to know what 
the forester had said to so excite his grandfather. 

“ Say, lad .? He said much. Why, he said to my 
teeth — an’ me a MacDonald ! — he said twa times, 
in as many words, that I was but a puir, misguided 
fule ! Min’ ye, he said that, an’ I ne’er raised a 
finger. I was — I was dumb ! No ane e’er lived to 
say that afore. Say, lad, d’ye think I’m gaun awa’ 
wi’ my min’ .? He said that I was auld afore my 
time ; that my stalwart frame was in its prime. 
Weel, it may be he was not sae far frae the truth, 
aifter a’. Is my form so bent, lad .? ” and the old 


2 So 


THE WOODRANGER. 


Highlander drew himself up, until he stood as 
straight as a post, six feet and three inches of 
stalwart manhood. 

‘‘ You were nevermore erect, grandfather, and you 
really are not so very old.” 

Sixty-eight, laddie. Cum tae think o’t. I’m nae 
sae dreadfu’ auld. The MacDonalds hae always 
been lang-lived. But that strange man compared 
us as faither an’ son. Can he be sae young ? ” 

Woodranger once said he was forty-four. Peo- 
ple have got into a peculiar habit of calling him old, 
when — ” 

Just the age o’ ma Alick, the bonniest laddie in 
a’ Scotland ! ” exclaimed Mr. MacDonald, his excite- 
ment returning. Gang an’ find that Woodranger, 
laddie, as soon as may be. I want to hear him ca’ 
me a fu/e again, and see if I will stand idle by.” 

The Woodranger, however, very much to their 
disappointment, was not seen again in that vicinity 
for some time. Mr. MacDonald continued to speak 
of him almost every day, and declare that he would 
find him. 

About that time Mr. Stark was troubled by the 
depredations of a deer in his corn shed, which he 
had built on to the end of his barn. The creature 
had come two or three times, and, having got a taste 
of the grain, was pretty sure to come again. With 
so many boy hunters in the family, of course he 


ZACK BITLOCK^S DEER. 


281 


had only to mention the fact to them, to be rid of 
the troublesome visitor. But he happened to do so 
in the presence of Zack Bitlock, who at once said : 

“ Let me look arter the creatur’, ’squire. I’m in 
want o’ some meat. ’Sides, th’ boys will fill th’ poor 
creatur’ full 0’ lead, an’ as like as not let it git away.” 

Anticipating that there might be fun in store for 
them by yielding to Goodman Bitlock, the boys did 
so with good grace. This would not hinder them 
from being on hand to witness the squatter’s work, 
and also to get the deer if it escaped the other, as 
they expected it would. 

Goodman Bitlock’s gun was a poor affair, as we 
already know, and he was an indifferent marksman. 
But these facts did not enter into his plans. He 
first borrowed the long deer thong which had served 
little Archie Stark to such good purpose in hanging 
the bear. Subsequent events, by the way, would 
seem to indicate that that affair suggested to him his 
plan. He made a running noose in one end of the 
line and adjusted it to such a nicety that the unsus- 
pecting deer would thrust its head through when it 
reached into the crib for its morning meal. The 
other end he carried back into the loft among the 
corn shucks, and his simple arrangements were 
complete. 

Late in the evening Goodman Bitlock crawled 
up into the midst of the corn shucks to wait and 


282 


THE WOODRANGER. 


watch for his victim. Not to be caught unawares, 
he got a firm hold on the end of the line and then 
began his lonely vigil. 

It is quite likely he fell asleep, for the deer did 
not appear on the scene to act its part until the day 
was breaking, when the boys, Billy, Johnny, and 
Archie, who were concealed in the cattle shed, saw 
a fine looking buck approach the place and thrust its 
head and antlers through the noose, and begin to 
eat ravenously of the succulent corn. But its move- 
ments had partly dislodged the line, and feeling it 
drawing upon its neck, the buck sprang backward 
with its first show of fright. 

The violent movement of the buck brought a wild 
cry from the loft, giving it genuine alarm. . The 
terrified deer tried to break away, and started toward 
the forest with mighty bounds. This quickly 
brought through the opening the doubled-up figure 
of Zack Bitlock. 

Somehow the squatter had got tangled up in the 
line, and now he found it impossible to get clear. 
He gave utterance to half smothered cries, as he 
was rudely jerked along at the heels of the terrified 
deer. 

“ Help — save me ! ” he cried. I’m a goner ! ” 

The boys quickly left their place of concealment, 
to save the unfortunate man, whose situation was as 
perilous as it was ridiculous. 


ZACK BITLOCK'S DEER. 283 

• 

Billy and Johnny had their guns with them, but, 
owing to the peculiar situation of Goodman Bitlock, 
a shot would endanger his life. So, while they fol- 
lowed at the top of their speed, the buck fled much 
faster toward the woods. Whatever was done to 
save the victim must be done quickly. 

“ He’ll kill Zack ! ” cried Archie, who was finding 
it impossible to keep up with his brothers. It cer- 
tainly looked as if poor Goodman Bitlock was on his 
last deer hunt. 

But an unforeseen accident suddenly changed the 
situation. The frightened deer, finding its flight at 
last stopped by the top of a fallen pine, instead of 
going around it made a bound into the air, to leap 
the obstruction. It cleared even the topmost 
branches, but it had not counted on the burden 
it was dragging away. The consequence was, 
Goodman Bitlock was jerked up under the mass 
of branches, and there he stuck. The deer, on 
the other side, managed to get his feet to the 
ground, but beyond that he could not go. 

By the time the boys reached the scene, Bitlock 
had recovered sufficient to begin a series of cries that 
was heart-rending : 

Save me ! I’m hung dead ! I’m a goner ! ” 
Have you got the deer, Goodman Bitlock } ” 
asked Johnny, who, finding there was no cause for 
further alarm, enjoyed the situation. This was 


284 


THE WOODRANGER. 


especially the more gratifying, as the squatter had 
boasted loudly of his scheme for catching the crea- 
ture. His reply was filled with despair : 

*<Got th’ or Harry! I wish I hadn’t. Shoot 
him, quick ! ” 

But that would fill him full of lead I ” replied 
Johnny, with provoking coolness. Say, Zack, that 
is a pretty certain way of — ” 

‘‘ Kill him, Johnny I He’s sawin’ me right in 
two I Oh — oh — oh ! Cut th’ rope if ye can’t 
shoot him.” 

The boys did not delay longer, but advanced into 
the thicket so as to get a shot at the struggling buck. 
Before they could get into position to fire, the buck 
suddenly bounded off into the woods with redoubled 
speed. Goodman Bitlock had managed to get a knife 
out of his pocket and cut the thong. 

Though they had lost the deer, the boys felt they 
had got as much sport out of the affair as they had 
expected. 

“ Gol-dang me ! ” exclaimed the discomfited squat- 
ter, as he scrambled to his feet, looking exceedingly 
battered and bruised but not seriously hurt, when 
I git over this, boys, I want ye to larrup me with a 
hickory sprout till ye git tired. Say, ef ye won’t say 
ennything erbout my foolishness I’ll make ye th’ 
handsomest pair o’ snow-shoes ye ever put on yer 
feet, I will, honest.” 


ZACK BITLOCK^S DEER. 


285 


So the matter was dropped by the boys, except 
among themselves ; but the victim must have told 
some one himself, for the story leaked out, and for 
a long time Bitlock’s deer was a standing joke in Old 
Harrytown. 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 


RAISING THE MEETING - HOUSE. 

At this time, the all-absorbing topic of conversation 
in Tyng Township was the raising of the new meet- 
ing-house, which had been long deferred on account 
of the failure to build a mill to saw the necessary 
lumber. In this important event, however, the Scotch- 
Irish showed little interest. It is true they had no 
meeting-house, as the place of worship was invari- 
ably called at that period, but they were able to 
attend divine services in the town across the river, 
and thus did not miss the building as much as their 
rivals. The Tyng colonists had held occasional meet- 
ings at private houses, but it was not altogether 
convenient or satisfactory. Then, too, there was a 
provision in their grant calling for a house of wor- 
ship, and until it was built they could not conscien- 
tiously reply to the attacks of the others, who were 
not above ridicule. So the raising of the meeting- 
house became the one theme of conversation. 

All through' the summer it had been planned to 
have the new house ready for dedication at Thanks- 
286 


RAISING THE MEETING - HO [/SE. 28/ 

giving ; but the season had been so unfavourable for 
out-of-door work, taken with other delays and difficul- 
ties, that this had finally been given up. This be- 
came the more necessary, as Thanksgiving came 
early that year, the thirteenth of November having 
been appointed. 

But raising day came at last, fair but cold. Early 
in the morning the men began to gather from far 
and near. Raisings in those times were important 
events, and men, and even women, often came long 
distances to be present and to lend such assistance 
as they could, either in helping raise the big timbers 
or in assisting to prepare the supper for the crowd 
of hungry workmen. If the raising of an ordinary 
house would draw such a crowd, how many more 
must come to the raising of a meeting-house. Men 
were at this raising under the Three Pines of Tyng 
Township from Chelmsford, twenty-five miles distant, 
from Old Dunstable, the home of the late Captain 
Tyng, from Nottingham, Naticook, Londonderry, 
Chester, and other towns. One singular thing was 
noticed and commented upon. Among the big crowd 
the most casual observer did not fail to notice the 
absence of the Scotch-Irish. It is true Mr. Archi- 
bald Stark was there, as he had said he should be, 
and also a few others, but not a baker’s dozen,” as 
some one remarked. 

But this did not trouble Mr. Anderson, the master 


288 


THE WOODRANGER. 


builder, as long as he saw in the eighty or more men 
collected enough strength to lift the stout frame 
lying there ready to be put into proper position. 

Raisings meant something different in those days 
from what they do now, when a building is *‘put up ” 
by piecemeal. A whole side was stoutly joined 
together on the ground, and then raised bodily by 
sheer strength. Poles, with iron spikes in the end, 
were used to facilitate the lifting, when the form had 
been raised as high as one could easily reach. Then, 
at the loud command of the boss, ‘‘ Up, up, up ! ” went 
the heavy timbers, nothing like the cobwebs we put 
into buildings to-day, until the tenons would slip 
into the mortises with a sharp report, and the whole 
would stand as firm “ as the rock-ribbed hills ! ” 

Tyng meeting-house being a large building for 
those days, its timbers were uncommonly big, and 
being poorly seasoned, were extremely heavy ; but 
“ many hands make light work,” and one side after 
another went up, amid loud cheering and not a little 
drinking. 

Three sides had thus been brought into position, 
and the men seized with a hearty will on the skele- 
ton of the remaining wall. 

Now, boys ! all together,” cried Mr. Anderson ; 
heave-0 ! ” 

Two men, who were not able to lift as well as 
some of the rest, had each been stationed at the foot 


RAISING THE MEETING - HO CISE. 289 

of the corner posts, so as to keep them from slipping, 
and so far there had been no accident. But this 
time, either one of the men had not planted himself 
with the necessary firmness, or else the men had 
been more careless than common in lifting the pon- 
derous form, for one of the posts began to slip on 
the frozen ground. 

‘‘ Hold firm, there, Robbins ! ” yelled Mr. Ander- 
son. Up with her, boys ! Heave-o ! heave-o ! ” 

Slowly rose the mighty frame, notwithstanding 
that it was still slipping in spite of the frantic 
efforts of the man at the base. It had risen so far 
that in another moment it would be secure on its 
own footing, when the man called Robbins lost his 
presence of mind. Instead of bracing himself more 
firmly and holding on, he loosened his clutch and 
retreated. 

The action imperilled the life of every man under 
the timbers. Should the lifters drop the frame, a 
few might escape as it fell, but many would certainly 
be crushed under the falling broadside. Each man, 
knowing this, held upon the massive frame with all 
the strength he could muster, so that for a mo- 
ment the whole form was held balanced almost free 
from the ground. It was a terrible moment. Even 
the noisy Mr. Anderson was silent. 

Sometimes one young in experience will do what 
an older person would fail to accomplish successfully. 


290 


THE WOODRANGER. 


It is certain no man there could have reached the 
foot of that sliding post as quickly as did Norman 
McNiel. His position had been favourable for the 
action, but what was of more vital importance, while 
others held their breath with terror, he had pres- 
ence of mind equal to the emergency. That post 
had got to be held firm, or all would be lost ! 

Near the foot of the timber was a stout hornbeam 
lever, which some one had thrown down a moment 
before. Seizing this, and throwing enough of his 
weight upon the lifting timber to keep it down, he 
planted one end of the stout stick against the stone- 
work, and brought the lever over the foot of the 
post, so as to hold it where it was. Assured that 
he could keep it from slipping further, he shouted to 
the overtaxed workmen : 

Now, all together, up with it ! I can hold the 
foot.” 

His words gave hope to the nearly exhausted 
men, who, with an almost superhuman effort, tugged 
anew at the heavy woodwork, which began to rise 
again. 

“ Heave-0, boys ! Up she goes ! ” cried Mr. Ander- 
son, exultantly. 

The next moment tenon and mortise met, a loud 
report followed, and the huge broadside stood erect 
and firm. 

While Mr. Anderson and a few others flew to drive 


RAISING THE MEETING-HOUSE. 29 1 

in the pins to make sure of their work, most of the 
men sank upon the ground to rest. There was gen- 
eral rejoicing, and one more enthusiastic than the 
rest proposed three cheers for Tyngtown’s new 
meeting-house. 

And three more for Norman McNiel,” said Mr. 
Anderson, « who made it possible. If it hadn’t been 
for him, there would have been no cheering, I can 
tell you.” 

Every one felt the truth of this, and one after 
another grasped Norman’s hand, with generous 
thanksgiving on their lips. 

Thus Tyng Township meeting-house was raised, 
and the colonists went to their respective homes 
with lighter hearts than they had known since 
accepting the responsibilities of their grant. Nor- 
man went home with Mr. Stark, who praised him 
heartily for his brave conduct. 

Mark my words, lad, you have made more friends 
to-day than you had before. When a man’s life is 
in actual danger, he is apt to appreciate the effort 
made in his behalf. I minded that Gunwad was not 
there. He has lost ground. That burning of Christo’s 
cabin has set every one against him. It was a 
miserable act, wholly uncalled for. Well, I am glad 
their meeting-house is at last on its feet. They 
cannot get it finished before another summer.” 

If the Tyng colonists could not have their meet- 


292 


THE WOODRANGER 


ing-house to hold services in on Thanksgiving day, 
they could at least observe the occasion with their 
accustomed ardour, and a shooting-match, intended 
to eclipse anything of the kind, was arranged to 
take place at that time. It was expected that 
marksmen would come from far and near to partici- 
pate in the trial at arms. After persistent coaxing, 
the Woodranger had been finally obtained to act 
as manager of the ceremonies, but on the thirteenth 
a snow-storm set in. Every one was glad to hover 
over the wide-mouthed fireplace for such warmth 
and comfort as it afforded. It was the gloomiest 
Thanksgiving ever known in Tyng Township, and 
its storm, to some, foreboded the end. 

The Woodranger was stopping at Captain Goffe’s, 
but as soon as he had seen that the shooting-match 
would not take place, he showed his uneasiness at 
the enforced idleness. 

‘^What ! never at rest.?” asked Mr. Goffe, senior. 
‘‘ Don’t you ever get tired, old man .? ” 

“ I should dissemble the great truth o’ natur’ if I 
said I did not, sir. Ask the old man if he is never 
tired who sits in the chimney-corner and sucks his 
thumbs, cap’n. I may have my weakness, but man 
on the move is seldom tired. He gets oneasy, it 
is true, but motion is life, inactivity death. Man 
might as well be a stump, fit only to be put up in 
the clearing to stop deer from trespassing, as to sit 


RAISING THE MEETING-HOUSE. 


293 


idly down. I think I’ll perambulate over toward ol’ 
Pawtuckaway, and mebbe I shall hark a deer or a 
moose.” 

The snow fell so rapidly that before midnight a 
foot and a half lay on the ground. Winter, it might 
be said, had fairly set in. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


THE FRESHET. 

The big snow-storm, which ushered in Thanks- 
giving day, lasted until the fifteenth, when the 
weather cleared away biting cold. Then, on the 
twenty-second, the cold abated, and a thaw set in, 
with peculiar characteristics which have marked it 
in history as a season not to be forgotten. It began 
to rain November twenty-fourth, and for twenty days 
successively it kept unceasingly at it, but every 
evening the stars would appear as bright as ever, 
and continue to shine until past midnight. At day- 
break the rain would again commence to fall as 
furiously as ever. 

With the ground frozen and a big body of snow, 
this warm rain brought such a freshet as the oldest 
settler had never seen. The ice in the Merrimack 
broke up and the swollen stream carried huge cakes 
on its turgid current, to the danger of lives and prop- 
erty.' 

' The snow melted and a freshet occurred in the Merrimack River, 
nothing like it having been experienced there for seventy years. At 
Haverhill, the stream rose fifteen feet, and many houses were floated 
off. — Perlefs Historic Storms of New England. 

294 


THE FRESHET. 


295 


At Cohas general alarm reigned, but at Namaske 
only one dwelling was threatened, and that was the 
home of Robert MacDonald, which unfortunately 
stood so low and near the bank of the stream that 
the water came almost to the door. Still the occu- 
pants, finding at last that it was rising no higher, 
hoped and believed that it would subside before 
doing them harm. 

Archibald Stark called one afternoon to see if 
there had been any change since the previous day 
and very confidently told them he believed the worst 
over. 

Accordingly, the inmates retired that evening 
without dreaming of further danger. But Norman 
had not fallen asleep, when a terrific roar and rum- 
bling, such as he had never heard in his life before, 
awoke the night. 

Springing off his couch, he had barely begun to 
dress himself before another crash was heard, and 
then a sound like the thunder of Namaske, increased 
tenfold in volume. * 

A loud rap at the door quickly followed, and a 
stentorian voice called out : 

Quick ! your lives are in peril ! ” 

It was the Woodranger, and he showed his impa- 
tience by renewed thumping against the log wall of 
the cabin. 

The next moment Norman was down on the 


296 the woodranger. 

lower floor, and found Mr. MacDonald already 
dressed, while Rilma appeared the following minute. 

Norman had already opened the door, and the 
Woodranger came in as Rilma appeared. 

The river has broken over its bank ! ” exclaimed 
the forester. '‘The ice dammed the stream and — 
hark! — we must get out o’ this amazement if we 
value our lives. Lassie, let me carry you. Lad, 
follow with your grandfather. Let there be no 
delay.” 

While speaking he caught the trembling Rilma in 
his strong arms, and strode out of the door. Clasp- 
ing his precious burden close to his breast, the 
Woodranger swiftly passed the little valley lying 
between the doomed dwelling and the higher land. 

Norman would have kept beside him, but his 
grandfather, in his excitement, stumbled and nearly 
fell, just as the rushing water seemed upon 
them I 

“ Hurry, grandfather ! ” cried Norman, helping 
him to his feet. “The river is making a channel 
around our home I ” 

“ The horn 1 ” exclaimed the dazed Highlander. 
“ I maun hae the auld — ” 

Without stopping to hear more, Norman bounded 
into the house, seized the horn, and an instant later 
was back beside his aged companion. 

But that moment lost was fatal to his hopes. So 


THE FRESHET 


297 


swiftly had the river risen and swept down on its 
new course, that the wall of water was in plain 
sight as Norman regained the side of his grand- 
father. 

Seizing him by the hand, and half dragging him 
along, he sped in the direction the Woodranger had 
taken. 

But Mr. MacDonald seemed bewildered, and he 
did not move with the necessary haste. Midway 
across the narrow valley Norman saw that it was 
hopeless to think of escaping, though he pulled 
harder than ever upon his aged companion in the 
endeavour to get him beyond the reach of the rush- 
ing stream. - Alone he might have escaped. 

The Woodranger, who had borne Rilma to a 
place of safety, gently put her down and sprang 
back to lend his assistance to the others. Seeing 
their peril, he would have rushed in to save them at 
the risk of his own life, but he was too late. 

Sweeping everything in its pathway, the watery 
column reached the hapless pair. Fortunately for 
Mr. MacDonald, the current struck him in such a 
way that he was tossed toward the high ground, and 
dropped almost at the feet of the Woodranger, who 
quickly caught hold of him and dragged him away 
from the surging flood. Then he turned to look for 
Norman. 

At that moment Mr. Stark, his boys, and half 


298 


THE WOODRANGER. 


a dozen others appeared on the scene, having come 
to warn his friends of the peril threatening their 
home. 

Norman was caught by the swirling waters and 
borne away at a fearful speed. He tried to save 
himself, but a cake of ice struck him on the head, 
and that was the last he knew until he lay in the 
arm6 of the Woodranger and the words of Mr. Stark 
came into his ears : 

Mark how he loves the boy.” 

Opening his eyes, our hero looked around in a 
bewildered way, a wild, strange roar of rushing water 
ringing in his ears. He saw about him a little knot 
of anxious watchers, the nearest of them the forester, 
upon his knees, bending over him. 

“Father, I thank thee, thou hast seen it well to 
spare him. Lad, speak, and tell me that my ol’ eyes 
do not deceive me. Thy life has been spared.” 

“ I think I must be living, Woodranger,” replied 
Norman, “but it does seem queer. Perhaps my 
mind is not clear yet. Where are Rilma and grand- 
father.?” 

“ Safe, lad. At least the lassie is safe and well 
cared for. Your grandfather did get a serious amaze- 
ment. It may have been a chunk o’ ice struck him, 
but he has been taken with the lassie to the home o’ 
Mr. Stark.” 

“ Where the boy must be taken without further 


THE FRESHET. 299 

delay,” said that kind-hearted man. <<Let me help 
you lift him on my sled, Woodranger.” 

Mr. Stark was the owner of a big hand-sled, which 
had been covered with warm fur robes. Norman 
was placed upon the sled, and willing hands drew 
him to the hospitable home, where the party was 
met by Mrs. Stark. 

He was then put on a comfortable bed, a warming- 
pan placed at his feet^ some herbs put as hot as he 
could bear to his head, and that was the last he 
knew until morning. 

Norman awoke feeling very much improved, and 
under the motherly care of Mrs. Stark he soon de- 
clared that he wanted to sit up. But that she would 
not allow. 

I promised Woodranger he should be called as 
soon as you awoke. He seems as uneasy as a fish 
out of water. Here he comes now.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE WOODRANGER’s SECRET. 

As kind Mrs. Stark spoke, the Woodranger 
entered the apartment in his swift, noiseless way, 
to pause just inside the skin door. 

“ Forgive me — ” 

Come right this way, Woodranger,” said Norman, 
holding out a hand. “ I want to see you, and talk 
with you.” 

‘‘ So you shall, lad, so you shall. These ol’ eyes 
ne’er looked on a more gladsome sight than to see 
you alive at this hour, and so well. But ere I get 
my ol’ tongue to babbling like a runaway brook, 
there is the leetle lassie, who is pining to come to 
you. Come, lassie ! ” 

Then, to Norman’s joy, Rilma came swiftly to his 
side, and they were locked in each other’s arms. 

cried for you, brother, as I saw that awful 
flood .rush over you. I never expected to see you 
again alive. And I never should if brave Wood- 
ranger had not plunged into the roaring water and 
300 


THE WOODRANGER^S SECRET, 301 

saved you. Norman, we all owe our lives to him. 
He is the bravest, noblest man in the world.” 

Amen, dear sister ; he is all of that. Come 
here, dear Woodranger, and let me thank you.” 

“ Nay, lad, I cannot dissemble ; it would be a 
blameful indiscretion. While you chat with the 
lassie I will go out and ketch a whiff o’ fresh air. 
That fire do burn up amazing stout,” and before any 
of them could interpose he had left the house. 

‘‘The strangest man I ever saw, as well as the 
best,” said Mrs. Stark. “And he seems queerer 
than ever to-day. Why, as' early as it is, he has 
been to Goffe’s and back this morning. I can’t 
imagine what he is doing. Acts as if he was look- 
ing for some one. But, excuse me, and I will take 
myself out of the way, so you can talk.” 

“ No — no, mother Stark ; we don’t want you to 
go. But you have not told me of grandfather, 
Rilma.” 

“ He is better than you, I think, Norman, though 
he is more nervous and excited than ever. Wood- 
ranger wouldn’t let me stay a great while with him. 
He wants no one but Woodranger, not even Mr. 
Stark.” 

“ I must go in and see him by and by. But the 
old home. Was the house carried off by the river ? ” 

“Archie tells me it was not injured,” replied Mrs. 
Stark, “ though the water completely surrounded it, 


302 


THE WOODRANGER. 


and had it risen another foot must have undermined 
it. The river is falling away fast, and we do not 
think there is any further danger. Here comes 
Woodranger back.” 

*‘Come in, Woodranger,” called out Norman. 
“ Don’t run off like that again.” 

‘‘Mebbe I won’t, lad, mebbe I won’t again. We 
have much to be thankful for, lad. I think the river 
is dropping away. I thought perhaps I could cross 
this afternoon.” 

‘‘You are not going away, Woodranger.^ We 
shall not let you.” 

“ Here is the horn, lad,” said the Woodranger, 
abruptly, handing Norman the MacDonald bugle 
which had come so near costing him his life. “ I 
found it tight gripped in your hand. For a wonder, 
your grandfather has not inquired after it.” 

Norman took the bugle with an expression of 
thanks, saying he would give it to his grandfather 
as soon as he could. Then, seeing that the Wood- 
ranger appeared about to be leaving again, he said : 

“ Aren’t you going to stay with me, Woodranger ? 
You cannot be going away .? ” 

“ Not fur, lad. I cannot dissemble, but I s’pose I 
oughter go down to Goffe’s. Mebbe when you get 
a leetle stronger, I shall have something to say to 
you.” 

“ Say it now, Woodranger, I shall — ” 


THE WOODEANGEE'S SECEET. 


303 


I durst not, lad, I durst not. Wait a leetle,” 
and with these words he went out of the house, and 
a few minutes later disappeared down the road. 

I never saw him so uneasy,” said Mrs. Stark. 

Though Norman had not received any injuries 
which were likely to be permanent, he soon found 
that it would be several days before he should be 
able to leave the house. But the week that followed 
was not unpleasant to him. Rilma was with him, 
the Stark boys came into his room at their will, and 
twice Rob Rogers visited him. Of course he saw 
considerable of the Woodranger, but not as much as 
he wished. 

The day before Christmas, in the afternoon, he 
was allowed to see his grandfather, whom he had not 
seen since that night’s adventure. The Woodranger 
and Rilma were with them. He was surprised to 
find him looking so wan and feeble. But the old 
Highlander grasped his hand with something of his 
usual vigour. 

‘‘ It does ma auld een guid tae gaze on thee again. 
Ye’ll soon be hame again.” 

And we shall be so glad, grandfather.” 

Nay, lad, I shall ne’er return tae the auld hame. 
I hae had a presentiment that my day be almos’ 
ower.” 

! “What’s that, MacDonald.?” asked the Wood- 
ranger. “ Are you getting childish again } I never 


304 


THE WOODRANGER. 


knew a MacDonald to die o’ sich a leetle clip as that 
which you say is going to kill you. You are no 
true — ” 

Zounds, sirrah ! ” cried’ the other, suddenly start- 
ing up. I’m no’ deed yet ! Get me my cane, 
Norman, an’ let me whack him at my will. Ye’ may 
ca’ me a fule, but ye ne’er shall say I’m ne’er a true 
MacDonald. My faither, sirrah, was the Chiel o’ 
Glencoe ! ” 

“ So much the worse for you, MacDonald. But 
I’m not here to stir an amazement. It should be a 
day o’ peace. Quiet your heart, MacDonald. I 
have enough to still my own. I’m sore perplexed 
to say what lies next my heart. The trail o’ the 
red man is easy to follow, and the tracks o’ the 
bear are picked up like beech-nuts arter a frost. 
But the whims o’ the heart are spun finer than 
spider threads. I cannot see these to pick ’em 
up ! ” 

Never had the others seen the Woodranger so 
excited, and they were almost startled at his 
appearance. 

“ What is it, Woodranger .? ” asked Norman. 

Has the old house gone, after all ? We can soon 
build another, and better one.” 

It is o’ Alick, my bonnie boy, he wishes to speak. 
Ye’re tae tell me mair o’ Alick,” declared Mr. 
MacDonald. 


THE WOODRANGER^S SECRET. 305 

Nay, nay ! I cannot dissemble longer. Lad, 
your father is coming home ! ” 

No five words that he could have spoken would 
have caused greater surprise. In fact, the little 
group gazed on him in speechless wonder. Norman 
was the first to break the silence : 

“ What do you mean, Woodranger ? ” 

“Just what I said, lad. Your father is living — 
is even now on his way here. He should have been 
here a week ago. I am sure he is now at Goffe’s.” 
Norman was unable to make any reply, while such 
thoughts as he had never known filled his mind. 
His first and most natural one was the inquiry 
made of himself : “ Is Woodranger mad } He has 

acted strangely for a week, is it improbable that he 
has at last lost his reason ? ” Then he continued, 
in a different train : “ Can it be possible father is 

alive and coming to me ? ” Trembling from head to 
foot, he caught the forester by the arm, saying : 

“ As you love me, Woodranger, tell me truly what 
you mean. Is father living, after all ? Is he coming 
here .? ” 

“ I ne’er dissemble, lad. I — ” 

“ Forgive me, Woodranger ; I did not mean to 
doubt you. I don’t know what I did mean. But 
you can explain. Please do.” 

“ It is I who should crave forgiveness, lad, for the 
deception I have acted. But it was my foolish way 


3o6 the woodranger. 

to get round the truth. I have known that Archie 
McNiel lived, and I have known the truth o’ his life 
these years, but I did not know you were living here 
until last summer. Then I sent at once to Archie 
to come with all speed possible, but, to make your 
surprise complete, I said nothing to you. I hope 
you will all forgive me. I haven’t prevaricated the 
great truth, because no one has questioned me. 
I — ” 

“ Hold, man ! ” cried Mr. MacDonald, breaking 
into his speech, “ d’ye dare tell me that graceless 
McNiel — the murderer — ” 

*^Stop, MacDonald! ” said the Woodranger, “this 
is no time for your silliness. Archie McNiel comes 
with a name as pure as thine. Ah, far more so, for 
the MacDonalds, with all their boasts o’ warlike deeds, 
can show leetle else. You have told me in your 
confidential moments, which I am free to confess is 
taking a man in his weakness, that you would receive 
your Alick if he came under the shadow of the 
gallows. He would have to come in that way if he 
came. Archie McNiel comes with a heart as pure 
and spotless as this wee lassie. Here is the proof o’ 
what I say, which I have carried long to give you.” 

As the Woodranger ceased speaking, he drew from 
under his hunting-frock a parcel, carefully wrapped 
in deer skin. As he handed this to Mr. MacDonald, 
he said : 


THE WOODRANGER'S SECRET, 307 

I’m going once more to meet him. He’ll come 
to-night, I’m sure. Meanwhile, watch and wait. I 
admonish thee, MacDonald, to receive him with open 
arms. It is the last written request o’ thy son.” 

“ Some one will go with you, Woodranger,” said 
Norman. I am sure Mr. Stark will be willing to 
do so.” 

Nay, lad, I must go alone. He will not be over- 
long in coming. If I fail to come back with him, 
yet I will see you all sometime.” 

He had reached the door. Then, as if prompted 
by a sudden impulse, he retraced his steps, and 
swiftly kissed the three, Mr. MacDonald first, then 
Norman, and last Rilma, whom he held closely in his 
arms for a long minute. Putting her down then, he 
noiselessly left the room before one of the three 
could call him back. 


CHAPTER XXXVL 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE. 

It would indeed be difficult to describe the con- 
flicting emotions felt by the little group, as the 
Woodranger went out of the house. Each felt that 
the strange man had departed with no intention of 
returning — at least for a considerable time. Mr. 
MacDonald was the only one to speak, and he 
ordered, in his own peculiar way, that some one be 
sent after him. In the excitement the paper was 
forgotten. It was not long before Mr. Stark and 
his good wife entered the apartment, and they were 
equally surprised over what had been said and done. 

In the midst of their questions, steps were heard 
without the dwelling. Then, as Mr. Stark opened 
the door, a stranger advanced to enter. 

I am Archie McNiel,” he said, “ and I have been 
told that I — I should find my long-lost son Norman 
here.” 

‘‘Come in,” said Mr. Stark, simply, stepping aside 
as the other obeyed. 


308 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE. 309 

Norman could remain silent no longer, and spring- 
ing forward, he cried, as the newcomer caught him 
in his outspread arms : 

Father ! ” 

“ My son — found at last ! ” 

During this affecting meeting the others in the 
room turned aside to conceal their emotion, Mr. 
MacDonald alone watching the reunited twain 
closely, while he showed that he was making a great 
effort to remain calm. 

“ I cannot realise this is indeed you, father,” said 
Norman, finally. 

Nor I, that at last I hold you in my arms, my 
son. I had long since given you up as dead. About 
two months ago I got word from one who signed 
himself as ‘The Woodranger,’ to come at once — 
that you and father were living here. I came with 
all possible haste. Father,” turning to the old 
Highlander, “ have you no welcome for me ” 

“I dinna ken. Ye’re — ” and then .he stopped. 

“ Woodranger has told you all } ” 

“ He has telt me naething. Whaur is the man } ” 

“ He would not come back with me. I could not 
persuade him, as much as I wanted to. His counte- 
nance seemed very familiar to me.” 

“ I dinna read him.” 

“ He gave you a paper which explains all ? I 
know my name has been under a cloud, but I have 


310 


THE WOODRANGER. 


been innocent of all imputed to me. Read the paper, 
sir, if you would know the truth.’' 

With trembling hand, Mr. MacDonald unrolled the 
manuscript, worn and soiled, and began to read. He 
had not progressed far, before he found that it was 
a confession showing that Alick MacDonald, and not 
Archie McNiel, was the guilty party, and that he 
had so skilfully covered his course as to escape 
detection. When he had read so far, he stopped, 
and, crumpling the paper in his hand, exclaimed : 

“ I will not believe it ! ” and threw the paper into 
the fire. The flames caught quickly upon it, and 
filling the wide-mouthed fireplace with its fiery waves 
for a moment, the blaze died down, showing only a 
charred cobweb of its remains. 

It is better so,” said Archie McNiel. “ There is 
nothing between us now, Robert MacDonald. If I 
have caused you a pang, I ask to be forgiven. Let 
the past be forgotten, and let us, on this Christmas 
eve, clasp hands across the void of years.” 

“Amen,” said Archie Stark. “Peace on earth, 
good-will toward men.” 

“If that strange man had only stayed,” declared 
Mr. MacDonald, as he allowed the arms of his son- 
in-law to encircle his neck. The reunion was now 
complete. 

Mr. Stark’s invitation was so urgent for them to 
remain with him the next day that the reunited 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE. 31I 

family consented. The first settlers in America gave 
little, if any, observation to Christmas, as a rule. The 
English colonists ignored it altogether, believing it 
infested with too much popery ; but that was a day 
which those gathered at Mr. Stark’s never forgot. 
In many respects it was the happiest they ever 
knew. 

The following day, Norman, his father, grandfather, 
and Rilma returned to their home, which soon bore 
more than its old-time cheerfulness. In fact, the 
tide had turned in the affairs of Tyng Township, and 
they were benefited by it. 

It may have been due to his loss of favour from the 
burning of Christo’s cabin, or from other reasons, 
but Gunwad did not offer to trouble them any more. 
In fact, there was not much time for him to do so, 
as the following May the boundary dispute, which 
had kept the two provinces embroiled so long, was 
happily settled. Perhaps not happily to all, for 
many were the losers, but it was settled for all time. 
By that settlement, the brave men of the “ Snow- 
shoe Expedition ” under Captain Tyng lost their 
claim to Tyng Township. The grant was now within 
New Hampshire’s jurisdiction. It is true they were 
given another township in the province of Maine, 
but it was so far away that some of the men pre- 
ferred to buy off the Presbyterians and remain. 
Some went back to their former homes, and a few 


312 


THE WOODRANGER. 


emigrated to the new grant, where they found less 
to contend with. 

The meeting-house which had cost them so much 
money and anxiety was soon after burned ; and then 
the name of the town was changed, and the last link 
connecting those trying years with the new existence 
was broken. War with the Indians broke out afresh, 
during which no men in New England did nobler or 
more effective work than those who went from what 
was once derisively called Old Harrytown, and com- 
prised the Debatable Ground. 

It is scarcely necessary to detail the incidents of 
Archie McNiel’s life after the unfortunate affair 
which separated himself from his loved ones, and 
kept him in ignorance of their fates so long. In the 
light of their new-found happiness the old wounds 
healed. He became one of the most respected citi- 
zens of his adopted land. Norman became not only 
that, but one of the most noted and helpful. History 
has depicted, in varied language, the after-life of all 
our other characters, but the historian aims at glit- 
tering generalities rather than the many little per- 
sonalities which are the sum and substance of all 
lives. I hope to tell very many of these before I am 
done with the Woodranger Tales. 


THE END. 


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LITTLE BERMUDA. By Maria Louise Pool, author of 
“ Dally,” “ A Redbridge Neighborhood,” “ In a Dike Shanty,” 
“ Friendship and Folly,” etc. 

THE WILD RUTHVENS. A Home Story. By Curtis York. 
Illustrated by E. F. Manning. 

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THE WOODRANGER. By G. W. Brown. 

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TIMOTHY DOLE. By Juniata Salsbury. With twenty-five or 
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